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Phenomenal Concepts and Phenomenal Knowledge

New Essays on Consciousness and Physicalism


Alter, Torin Associate Professor of Philosophy, University of Alabama
Walter, Sven Junior Lecturer, Department of Philosophy, Universität Bielefeld

Contents

Introduction 1

Part One - Phenomenal Knowledge 13

1. Daniel Dennett - What RoboMary Knows 14


2. Laurence Nemirow et. altri - So This Is What It's Like A Defense of the Ability
Hypothesis 32
3. Frank Jackson - The Knowledge Argument, Diaphanousness, Representationalism 52
4. Torin Atler - Does Representationalism Undermine the Knowledge Argument? 65
5. Knut Nordby - What Is This Thing You Call Color. Can a Totally Color-Blind Person
Know about Color?

Part Two - Phenomenal Concepts 85

6. Janet Levin - What Is a Phenomenal Concept? 87


7. David Papineau - Phenomenal and Perceptual Concepts 111
8. Joseph Levine - Phenomenal Concepts and the Materialist Constraint 145
9. David Chalmers - Phenomenal Concepts and the Explanatory Gap 167
10. John Hawthorne - Direct Reference and Dancing Qualia 195
11. Stephen White - Property Dualism, Phenomenal Concepts, and the Semantic Premise
210
12. Ned Block - Max Black's Objection to Mind-Body Identity 249
13. Martine Nida-Rümelin - Grasping Phenomenal Properties 307

Introduction
This volume presents thirteen new essays on phenomenal concepts and phenomenal
knowledge: twelve by philosophers and one by a scientist. In this introduction, we
provide some background and summarize the essays.

Background: Consciousness and Physicalism

“Phenomenal” indicates conscious experience: what it's like to feel pain, to see red, and
so on. Phenomenal knowledge is knowledge of conscious experience. Phenomenal
concepts are concepts associated with that knowledge: those that express phenomenal
qualities from the experiencing subject's perspective. What is the nature of such
knowledge and concepts? What are their distinctive characteristics? How are their
contents determined? What is required for their possession? In what does possessing
them consist? How are they related to abilities, such as the ability to visualize? How are
they related to physical knowledge and physical concepts? These are just a few of the
questions that the essays in this volume address.
Why are such questions important? One reason concerns the debate over consciousness
and physicalism. Physicalism (also known as materialism) is the view that the world is
merely physical. 1 This view implies that consciousness is physical or, as it is sometimes
put, that there are no truths about consciousness over and above the physical truths. Many
embrace this implication, partly because it accords well with a naturalistic outlook in
which the physical sciences, ideally conceived, completely describe reality. But the
implication is controversial even among those otherwise sympathetic to naturalism. The
controversy has gained focus over the last few decades, partly because of the refinement
of certain antiphysicalist arguments and physicalist replies. In this debate, phenomenal
concepts and phenomenal knowledge have come to play increasingly prominent roles. To
see why, consider two widely discussed antiphysicalist arguments: the knowledge
argument and the conceivability argument.
The classic statement of the knowledge argument comes from Frank Jackson (1982,
1986). Jackson formulates the argument in terms of his well-known thought experiment:
the case of Mary the super-scientist. Mary is raised in a black-and-white room and has no
color experiences. She learns everything in the completed science of color vision by
watching lectures on black-and-white television. What she learns includes “everything in
completed physics, chemistry, and neurophysiology, and all there is to know about the
causal and relational facts consequent upon all this, including of course functional roles”
(Jackson 1986: 291). Then she leaves the room or is given a color television.
Jackson uses the Mary case to argue roughly as follows. Before she leaves the room, she
knows all the physical truths. Intuitively, when she leaves and sees colors for the first
time, she learns new truths about what it's like to see in color, truths she cannot deduce
from those conveyed by black-and-white lectures. These new truths must be nonphysical;
otherwise, she would have known them before leaving the room. If such nonphysical
truths exist, then physicalism is false. Therefore, physicalism is false. That, in brief, is the
knowledge argument. 2
The conceivability argument is often formulated in terms of another thought experiment,
one involving zombies. Zombies are defined as creatures that lack phenomenal
consciousness but are physically identical to conscious human beings. Given this
definition, the conceivability argument runs roughly as follows. Intuitively, zombies are
conceivable. Their conceivability does not derive from our ignorance or cognitive
limitations; rather, they are conceivable because they are metaphysically possible. If they
are metaphysically possible, then physicalism is false. Therefore, physicalism is false. 3
Both arguments comprise three main steps. The first step is to establish an epistemic gap:
the thesis that phenomenal concepts/knowledge cannot be deduced a priori from physical
concepts/knowledge. In terms of the knowledge argument, the claim is that Mary gains
factual knowledge when she leaves the room: knowledge of truths that cannot be a priori
deduced from her comprehensive physical knowledge. In terms of the conceivability
argument, the claim is that it is possible to form a coherent positive conception of
zombies or that no a priori reasoning could show the zombie hypothesis to be incoherent
(Chalmers 2002). The second step is to infer a metaphysical gap from the epistemic gap:
to argue that the epistemic gap reflects a gap in reality, between the physical and the
phenomenal themselves, and not just in knowledge or concepts. In terms of the
knowledge argument, the inference is to the claim that the truths Mary learns upon
leaving the room are nonphysical. In terms of the conceivability argument, the inference
is to the claim that zombies are not just conceivable but metaphysically possible. The
third step is to infer physicalism's falsity from the existence of a metaphysical gap.
Most physicalists accept the third step but reject the first or the second. 4 Against the first,
some contend that the appearance of an epistemic gap derives from misconstruing
phenomenal concepts or phenomenal knowledge. In their view, the appearance of such a
gap does not reflect reality: on reflection, zombies are inconceivable and Mary gains no
factual knowledge upon leaving her room. Against the second step, some argue that the
epistemic gap does not entail a metaphysical gap. On their view, zombies are conceivable
but metaphysically impossible and the thesis that Mary acquires factual knowledge when
she leaves the room does not conflict with physicalism. These two views—the one that
rejects the epistemic gap and the one that rejects the inference to the metaphysical gap—
are sometimes called type-A and type-B materialism, respectively (Chalmers 1996, 2003).
Both views have been developed in various ways, and antiphysicalists have responded in
kind. But many on all sides of the debate would agree that much depends on how
phenomenal concepts and phenomenal knowledge are construed. The latter issue has
implications for what form physicalism should take: certain construals render the
epistemic gap implausible and thus favor type-A materialism, while other construals help
provide grounds for rejecting the inference to the metaphysical gap and thus favor type-B
materialism. Moreover, the issue of how to construe phenomenal concepts and
phenomenal knowledge has implications for the antiphysicalist arguments. For example,
some type-A materialists argue that the knowledge argument goes awry in assuming that
phenomenal knowledge is a species of factual/propositional knowledge, and some type-B
materialists argue that phenomenal concepts have distinctive features that explain why
the conceivability of zombies fails to support their metaphysical possibility. Indeed,
views about phenomenal concepts or phenomenal knowledge play pivotal roles in
virtually all serious discussions of the antiphysicalist arguments.

Thus, two questions emerge:

1.Could a proper understanding of phenomenal concepts/knowledge show that there is


or is not an epistemic gap?
2.Could a proper understanding of phenomenal concepts/knowledge show that there is
or is not a metaphysical gap?

Most of the essays in this volume address at least one of these questions, and all address
surrounding issues. The essays in part I focus primarily on phenomenal knowledge and
the knowledge argument. The essays in part II focus primarily on phenomenal concepts,
and most do not concentrate narrowly on any single antiphysicalist argument.
Part I: Phenomenal Knowledge

Part I begins with an essay by Daniel Dennett that further develops a line of argument he
presented in his 1991 book, Consciousness Explained. In that book, he argued that we
should reject the intuition that Mary gains knowledge when she leaves the room. In his
view, this intuition derives from a failure to appreciate the implications of knowing all
the physical facts. In chapter 1 of the present volume, he gives a more detailed account of
his case. Specifically, he (1) criticizes attempts to defend the intuition; (2) devises
variations on the Mary case to illustrate how a deduction from physical information of
what it's like to see in color might actually proceed; and (3) defends his arguments
against objections. In effect, he answers question 1 of the previous section (“Could a
proper understanding of phenomenal concepts/knowledge show that there is or is not an
epistemic gap?”) affirmatively. In his view, a proper understanding of phenomenal
concepts and phenomenal knowledge helps to show that there is no epistemic gap.
In chapter 2, Laurence Nemirow also provides grounds for denying the existence of an
epistemic gap. Unlike Dennett, however, Nemirow accepts that Mary learns what it's like
to see in color when she leaves the room. But in his view, her learning consists in
acquiring abilities, such as the ability to imagine seeing red, as opposed to phenomenal
information. David Lewis (1988) dubbed the idea that knowing what it's like is
possessing abilities the ability hypothesis, and Nemirow (1980, 1990) was its pioneer. In
his chapter for this book, Nemirow defends the ability hypothesis and its effectiveness in
undermining the knowledge argument. He considers a variety of objections, including
objections advanced by Earl Conee, Michael Tye, Janet Levin, Brian Loar, Martine Nida-
Rümelin, William Lycan, Torin Alter, and John Perry. As he mentions, many
philosophers find the ability hypothesis counterintuitive. But in his view, it should be
judged by “the strength of the available rejoinders,” and on that score, he argues, it
“proves to be reasonably resilient to assault.”
Jackson's current position on the knowledge argument is not far from Nemirow's. In the
late 1990s, Jackson surprised the philosophical community by embracing physicalism
and rejecting the knowledge argument. In a 2003 essay, “Mind and Illusion,” he argued
that the claim that Mary learns new truths when she leaves the room—a version of the
epistemic gap—derives from a mistaken conception of sensory experience, one that
should be replaced with representationalism, the view that phenomenal states are
representational states. In chapter 3, he further develops his representationalist view
about perceptual experience and defends its application to the knowledge argument. He
bases his view partly on the idea that perceptual experience is diaphanous—in other
words, that “accessing the nature of the experience itself is nothing other than accessing
the properties of its object.” He argues that although the diaphanousness thesis alone does
not entail representationalism, the thesis supports an inference from a weaker to a
stronger version of representationalism. On the weak version, perceptual experience is
essentially representational. On the strong version, “how an experience represents things
as being exhausts its experiential nature.” And strong representationalism, he argues,
undermines the claim that Mary learns new truths when she leaves the room.
In chapter 4, Torin Alter criticizes the main argument of Jackson's “Mind and Illusion.”
In effect, Alter defends the epistemic gap against Jackson's argument from
representationalism. He argues that it is possible to formulate a representationalist version
of the knowledge argument that inherits the force of the original. He concludes on these
grounds that “in the debate over the knowledge argument, representationalism would
appear to be a red herring.” He thus defends a version of the epistemic gap. 5
The final chapter in part I, by the late Knut Nordby, takes a different approach. Nordby
was a real-life counterpart of Mary: a color-blind expert in the science of color vision. In
chapter 5, he describes the results of empirical research on color vision and other sense
modalities. Based on these results and his own experience, he argues that “Mary will be
able to sense and discriminate color hues, but will not be able to name them on the basis
of her knowledge.” He does not take a definite stand on the epistemic and metaphysical
gaps. But his reflections should help inform views on these matters. 6

Part II: Phenomenal Concepts

Most of the essays in part II concern the view that, although consciousness is physical,
our concepts of consciousness are special in ways that our concepts of other physical
phenomena are not. On this view, the antiphysicalist arguments mistake an insight about
phenomenal concepts for one about what these concepts pick out. On the most popular
version of the view, known as the phenomenal concept strategy (Stoljar 2005), the
epistemic gap is accepted but explained in psychological terms. 7 This strategy requires
an account of phenomenal concepts that both explains the epistemic gap and is consistent
with physicalism. The first two essays in part II (by Janet Levin and David Papineau)
defend accounts of phenomenal concepts meant to meet both desiderata. The next two
essays (by Joseph Levine and David Chalmers) criticize the phenomenal concept
strategy. They are followed by a chapter in which John Hawthorne criticizes the
combination of antiphysicalism and a view about phenomenal concepts typically held by
antiphysicalists. The last three (by Stephen White, Ned Block, and Martine Nida-
Rümelin) discuss antiphysicalist arguments by way of issues that center on phenomenal
concepts.
In chapter 6, Levin presents a version of the phenomenal concept strategy based on a
limited defense of the “demonstrative account” of phenomenal concepts. In this account,
phenomenal concepts “pick out their referents directly, much like demonstratives,
without mediation by any mode of presentation.” As she observes, many type-B
materialists appeal to this account to help explain why there is an epistemic gap but no
metaphysical gap. She argues that the account can meet objections she and others present
elsewhere, although she notes that other objections remain unanswered. She also argues
that recent emendations to the account, including those by Katalin Balog, Block,
Papineau, and Levine, “concede too much to the antiphysicalists while accomplishing too
little.” She therefore urges demonstrative theorists “to return to their roots.”
Although Papineau once advocated a demonstrative account, in his recent book, Thinking
about Consciousness (2002), he argues that phenomenal concepts should instead be
likened to quotational terms: such concepts are, he suggests, “terms with the structure the
experience: —, in which the gap is filled either by a current experience or by an
imaginative re-creation of an experience.” The quotational account, like the
demonstrative account, can be used to defend type-B materialism from the antiphysicalist
arguments. For example, he argues, although leaving the room allows Mary to fill the
placeholder in “the experience: —” with the appropriate color experiences, her new
phenomenal concepts are merely distinctive ways of referring to physical phenomena. In
chapter 7, he develops a revised version of the quotational account. The revisions are
motivated in part by the need to explain how one who possesses a phenomenal-red
concept, for example, could think truly that she is now neither having a red experience
nor re-creating such an experience in her imagination. Although the revisions are
substantial, he argues that “the main arguments in the book [Thinking about
Consciousness]”—including the type-B-style responses to the antiphysicalist
arguments—“are robust with respect to” these revisions.
In chapter 8, Levine raises a problem for the phenomenal concept strategy. He frames the
problem partly in terms of the explanatory gap (Levine 1983), which is roughly the claim
that the existence or nature of phenomenal consciousness cannot be completely explained
in physical terms. The explanatory and epistemic gaps are closely related. Note, for
example, that if zombies are conceivable, then the complete physical explanation does
not appear to explain why consciousness exists—why our world is not a zombie world
(see Chalmers, chap. 9, this volume). As applied to the explanatory gap, the phenomenal
concept strategy requires a physicalist account of phenomenal concepts on which the gap
derives from phenomenal concepts rather than phenomenal consciousness itself. Levine
argues that, to pass muster, such accounts must satisfy the following constraint: “that no
appeal be made in the explanation to any mental property or relation that is basic.” An
account violates this constraint if, for example, it makes appeal to an unexplained notion
of acquaintance between a subject and her brain states. He argues that we do not
understand how any physicalist account can both meet this constraint and explain how
the explanatory gap derives from “the peculiar features of phenomenal concepts.” And
though he allows that some physicalist account might achieve these goals, he ends by
speculating that physicalism may be false “not because phenomenal properties
themselves are not physical” but rather “because somehow we embody a relation to them
that is itself brute and irreducible to physical relations.”
In chapter 9, Chalmers raises a related problem for the phenomenal concept strategy. He
argues that “no account of phenomenal concepts is both powerful enough to explain our
epistemic situation with regard to consciousness, and tame enough to be explained in
physical terms.” In other words, any account of phenomenal concepts that renders them
physically explicable fails to capture our epistemic situation; and any account that
captures our epistemic situation entails that phenomenal concepts are not physically
explicable. Chalmers illustrates the problem by applying the dilemma to demonstrative
accounts such as Levin's, quotational accounts such as Papineau's, and various other
accounts. If he is right, then the problem is insurmountable, and the phenomenal concept
strategy cannot succeed.
Antiphysicalists have problems of their own. In chapter 10, Hawthorne argues that there
is a tension in the semantic views held by certain antiphysicalists. These philosophers
accept Fregean arguments against direct-reference theories of ordinary proper names but
maintain that phenomenal concepts refer directly. Against this semantic package, and
against Chalmers's views in particular, Hawthorne argues that “the thought experiments
that motivate a sense-reference distinction for ordinary proper names—roughly,
Hesperus-Phosphorus stories—can be replicated at the level of direct phenomenal
concepts.” (A Hesperus-Phosphorus story is one in which one rationally believes both
that object a has a property P and that object b lacks P, even though a = b.) 8 Further, he
suggests, “the thought that Hesperus-Phosphorus phenomena arise for direct phenomenal
concepts” arises independently of the semantic package and thus “may have a quite
general legitimacy.” Although he does not take a definite position on the existence of the
epistemic and metaphysical gaps, in effect he identifies a new problem for those who
embrace them.
The next two essays focus on what is known as the property dualism argument. Though
the knowledge argument and the conceivability argument apply to physicalism generally,
the property dualism argument targets a specific version: the identity theory, on which
experiences are held to be identical to more fundamental physical phenomena, such as
brain processes. 9 The property dualism argument exploits a consideration related to the
Hesperus-Phosphorus phenomena that Hawthorne discusses. The identity theorist accepts
that one might rationally both believe that one is in pain and disbelieve that brain state B
is occurring, even if pain = B. This is presumably because the subject thinks of one and
the same event under two distinct “modes of presentation”: a phenomenal mode and a
neurobiological mode. But how are we to understand phenomenal modes of presentation?
According to the property dualism argument, a proper understanding of phenomenal
modes leads to a dualism of properties.
In chapter 11, White defends the property dualism argument. The “semantic premise”
mentioned in his chapter title refers to an assumption identified by Brian Loar (1990/97).
According to Loar, antiphysicalist arguments such as the property dualism argument
tacitly assume that “a statement of property identity that links conceptually independent
concepts is true only if at least one concept picks out the property it refers to by
connoting a contingent property of that property” (600). According to White, however,
the “property that does the work in explaining the possibility of a posteriori identities
needn't be a first-order property of the referent in question.” On his view, the property
dualism argument requires only a weaker semantic premise, which allows that the
property in question be a higher order property. He formulates a refined version of the
property dualism argument, which uses the weaker premise, and defends the argument
against various objections.
In chapter 12, Block criticizes the property dualism argument. He argues that one version
of the argument conflates two different notions of mode of presentation: the “cognitive
mode of presentation,” which is defined in terms of its role in determining reference
and/or explaining cognitive significance; and the “metaphysical mode of presentation,”
which is a property of the referent in virtue of which the cognitive mode of presentation
plays its semantic and cognitive roles. Block also criticizes other versions of the property
dualism argument, and he draws connections to the knowledge argument and to related
arguments given by White. In effect, Block and White disagree over the inference from
the epistemic to the metaphysical gap: Block uses a version of the phenomenal concept
strategy to reject the inference, whereas White defends the inference against that strategy.
In the final chapter, Nida-Rümelin presents a different argument for property dualism.
Central to her argument is a technical notion of grasping a property, which means
“understand[ing] what having that property essentially consists in.” She develops this
notion and uses it to formulate four theses about phenomenal concepts, physical concepts,
and the relations among these concepts and phenomenal and physical properties—theses
that, she argues, together establish that “no phenomenal property can be a physical
property.” She frames her discussion partly in terms of the two-dimensional semantic
framework developed by Jackson, Chalmers, and others. At the end of her essay, she
compares and contrasts her argument with related antiphysicalist arguments given by
Chalmers (1996, 2003) and Kripke (1972).
Properly assessing the antiphysicalist arguments requires resolving various issues
concerning phenomenal concepts and phenomenal knowledge. The essays collected here
advance the debate about these issues and, we believe, thereby improve our
understanding of the nature of consciousness and its relation to the physical world.

Acknowledgments

We are indebted to David Chalmers for his generous and invaluable advice on countless
matters. We also wish to thank Norma McLemore, Karissa Rinas, and Mark Scala for
their help with copy editing. Finally, Torin Alter thanks the American Philosophical
Society for supporting his work on this book with a Sabbatical Fellowship.

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Part One Phenomenal Knowledge


end p.13

end p.14
one What RoboMary Knows
Daniel Dennett

Frank Jackson's thought experiment about Mary the color scientist is a prime example of
an intuition pump, a thought experiment that is not so much a formal argument as a
vignette that has been pumping philosophical intuitions with remarkable vigor since it
first appeared in 1982. For sheer volume and reliability, this must count as one of the
most successful intuition pumps ever devised by analytical philosophers. But is it a good
intuition pump? How could we tell? Douglas Hofstadter's (1981) classic advice to
philosophers confronted by a thought experiment is to treat it the way scientists treat a
phenomenon of interest: vary it, turn it over, examine it from all angles, and in different
settings and conditions, just to make sure you aren't taken in by illusions of causation.
During the last twenty years, philosophers have examined many variations and defended
many different responses, but they have singularly neglected some of the possible
settings of the knobs. More than a decade ago, I conducted a preliminary exploration of
the knobs, and issued a killjoy verdict that has been almost universally disregarded: “Like
a good thought experiment, its point is immediately evident even to the uninitiated. In
fact it is a bad thought experiment, an intuition pump that actually encourages us to
misunderstand its premises!” (1991: 398).
In fact, it is much more difficult to imagine the scenario correctly than people suppose, so
they imagine something easier and draw their conclusions from that mistaken base. In an
attempt to bring out the flaws in the thought experiment, I encouraged people to consider
a variant ending:
And so, one day, Mary's captors decided it was time for her to see colors. As a trick, they
prepared a bright blue banana to present as her first color experience ever. Mary took one
look at it and said, “Hey! You tried to trick me! Bananas are yellow, but this one is blue!”
Her captors were dumfounded. How did she do it? “Simple,” she replied. “You have to
remember that I know everything—absolutely everything—that could ever be known
about the physical causes and effects of color vision. So of course before you brought the
banana in, I had already written down, in exquisite detail, exactly what physical
impression a yellow object or a blue object (or a green object, etc.) would make
end p.15

on my nervous system. So I already knew exactly what thoughts I would have (because,
after all, the ‘mere disposition’ to think about this or that is not one of your famous
qualia, is it?). I was not in the slightest surprised by my experience of blue (what
surprised me was that you would try such a second-rate trick on me). I realize it is hard
for you to imagine that I could know so much about my reactive dispositions that the way
blue affected me came as no surprise. Of course it's hard for you to imagine. It's hard for
anyone to imagine the consequences of someone knowing absolutely everything physical
about anything!” (1991: 399–400)
It is standardly assumed that things could not proceed this way. As Jackson disarmingly
put it in the original article, “It seems just obvious that she will learn something about the
world and our visual experience of it” (1982: 128). That, I claimed, is a mistake, and that
is what is wrong with Mary as a thought experiment. It just feels so good to conclude that
Mary has a revelation of some sort when she first sees color that nobody wants to bother
to show that this is how the story must go. In fact, it needn't go that way at all. My variant
was intended to bring out the fact that, absent any persuasive argument that this could not
be how Mary would respond, my telling of the tale had the same status as Jackson's: two
little fantasies pulling in opposite directions, neither with any demonstrated authority. I
thought that I had said enough to make my point, but a decade of further writing on Mary
by many philosophers and their students has shown me that I should have been more
patient, more explicit, in my objections. I underestimated the allure of this intuition pump
by a wide margin. So I am returning to the fray, and this time I will make my case at a
more deliberate pace, dotting the i's and crossing the t's.
First, I have found that some readers—maybe most—just didn't get my blue banana
alternative. 1 What was I saying? I was saying that Mary had figured out, using her vast
knowledge of color science, exactly what it would be like for her to see something red,
something yellow, something blue in advance of having those experiences. 2 I asserted
this flat out—in your face, as it were—to expose the fact that people normally assume
that this is impossible on the basis of no evidence or theory or argument, but just on the
basis of ancient philosophical tradition going back at least to John Locke. Perhaps a little
dialogue will help bring out the intended point:
TRAD: What on earth do you mean? How could Mary do that?
DCD: It wasn't easy. She deduced it, actually, in a 4,765-step proof (for red—once she'd
deduced what red would look like to her, green fell into line with a 300-step lemma, and
the other colors, and all the hues thereof, were relatively trivial extensions of those
proofs).
end p.16

TRAD: You're just making all that up! There are no such proofs!
DCD: This is a thought experiment; I get to make up all sorts of things. Can you prove
that there are no such proofs? What established fact or principle am I contradicting when
I help myself to a scenario in which she deduces what colors would look like to her from
everything she knows about color?
TRAD: Look. It's just obvious! You can't deduce what a color looks like if you've never
seen one!
DCD: That's an interesting folk theorem, I must say. Here's another: If you burp, sneeze,
and fart all at the same time, you die. Both sound sort of plausible to me, but is there any
scientific backing for either one of them?
She'll Be Surprised, Dammit!
If the Mary thought experiment was intended simply to draw out and illustrate vividly the
implications of a fairly standard way of thinking that many, probably most, people have,
it might be a useful anthropological exercise, an investigation of folk psychology laid
bare. But those who have championed Mary have thought that it might actually prove
something bigger, not just the conclusion that most people's unexamined assumptions
imply dualism (I think we already knew that, but maybe not), but the conclusion that
dualism is true! The fact that philosophers would so much as entertain such an
interpretation of a casual exercise of the imagination fills me with astonishment. I had no
idea philosophers still put so much faith in the authority of their homegrown intuitions. It
is almost as if one thought one could prove that the Copernican theory was false by
noting that it “seems obvious” that the earth doesn't move and the sun does.
Consider, for instance, the recent article “Mary Mary, Quite Contrary,” by George
Graham and Terence Horgan (2000). Graham and Horgan have usefully managed to
distill precisely the unargued intuition that I have been attempting to isolate and discredit
for fifteen years or more—the one we might express as “She'll be surprised, dammit!”
They begin by distinguishing two main materialist responses to Mary: thin and thick
materialism. Thin materialism, of which I am one of the few exponents, denies that Mary
learns anything post-release. Thick materialists attempt to salvage materialism while
going along with the gag that Mary is startled, delighted, surprised, or something like
that, when she is released from her colorless captivity. The strategy Graham and Horgan
take is first to declare briskly that thin materialism is a nonstarter in need of no refutation
because it “has been amply criticized by others” (63). The only critics they list are
McConnell (1994) and Lycan (1996). As I replied at some length to McConnell in the
same journal (Dennett 1994), and as Lycan doesn't criticize my version of thin
materialism, I don't find this criticism ample, but I must admit that Graham and Horgan
are only going along with the mainstream in ignoring my brand of thin materialism.
That's why the current essay is necessary.
Graham and Horgan spell out the best of the thick materialist campaigns—Michael Tye's
PANIC—and imagine their own variation on the original theme: Mary Mary, the
daughter of the original Mary, and a devotee of Tye's brand of thick materialism.
According to Tye's PANIC theory, “phenomenal character is one and the same as Poised
Abstract Nonconceptual Intentional Content” (Tye, 1995: 137), which means roughly that
it is content that is “in position to make a direct impact on the belief/desire system” and is
about nonconcrete, nonconceptualized discriminable properties. It follows from Tye's
view, they claim, that Mary Mary, upon release, shouldn't be surprised. As they say: “In
the end, Tye's version of thick materialism is just too thin. And this problem threatens to
arise for any materialist treatment of phenomenal content” (2000: 77; emphasis in
original).
I had previously viewed Tye's alternative to my brand of thin materialism as giving too
much ground to the qualophiles, the lovers of phenomenal content, but thanks now to
Graham and Horgan I can welcome him into my underpopulated fold as a thin materialist
malgré lui, someone who has articulated much more painstakingly than I had just what
sorts of functionalistically explicable complexities go to constitute the what-it-is-likeness,
the so-called phenomenality, of conscious experience. I applaud Graham and Horgan's
analysis of Mary Mary's predicament, which leads inexorably to the conclusion that since
she already knows all the facts, has all the information needed to have anticipated all the
noticeable, articulable properties of her debut experience in a colored world, she should
not, in spite of Tye's claims, be (or expect to be) surprised. Here, in a nutshell, is what
they say:
First, what is psychologically significant about the PANIC properties is just the
functional/representational role they play in human cognitive economy—something that
Mary thoroughly understands already, by virtue of her scientific omniscience. …
Second, what is psychologically significant about phenomenal concepts (given Tye's
theory) is that they are capacity-based concepts; … But she already understands these
capacities thoroughly, including how PANIC states subserve them, even though she does
not possess the capacities herself. No expected surprises there, either.
Third, the psychological distinctiveness of beliefs and knowledge-states employing
phenomenal concepts is completely parasitic (given Tye's theory) upon the capacity-
based nature of the phenomenal concepts. So she already understands well the nature of
these beliefs and knowledge-states. … So Mary Mary, as a True Believer in Tye's PANIC
theory of phenomenal consciousness, has no good reason to expect surprise or
unanticipated delight upon being released from her monochrome situation. (2000: 71–72)
In short, Tye should join me in predicting that Mary Mary, like her mother Mary, would
not be surprised or delighted at all. She's been there, done that, in her vast imagination
already, and has nothing left to learn. So what's the problem? Why don't Graham and
Horgan join Tye and me? (I'm presuming for the fun of it that Tye is now on my side.)
Because—and here comes the super-pure, double-distilled intuition that I've been
gunning for—“Surely, we submit, she should be both surprised and delighted” (2000:
72). “Surely.” As I noted in “Get Real” (Dennett 1994) in one of my many commentaries
on Ned Block, “Wherever Block says ‘Surely,’ look for what we might call a mental
block” (549). Block is perhaps one of the most profligate abusers of the “surely” operator
among philosophers, but others routinely rely on it, and every time they do a little alarm
bell should ring. Here is where the unintended sleight-of-hand happens, whisking the
false premise
end p.18

by the censors with a nudge and a wink. Graham and Horgan do pause momentarily to
ask why they are so sure, and this is what they answer:
What will surprise and delight Mary Mary … is (it seems to us) the unanticipated
experiential basis of her concept-wielding, recognitional/discriminatory, capacities and
the acknowledged richness of her experience; she never expected polychromatic
experience to be like this. (72)
I know that it seems to many people that there is this extra “richness,” this “experiential
basis” over and above all the PANIC details, but I have claimed that they are just wrong
about this, and I have offered a diagnosis of the sources of this deep-seated theorists'
illusion. In “Quining Qualia” (Dennett 1988), I discussed the example of the torn Jell-O
box, half of which has shape property M, and the other half of which is the only practical
M-detector: the shape may defy description, but it is not literally ineffable or
unanalyzable; it is just extremely rich in information. It is a mistake to inflate practical
indescribability into something metaphysically more portentous, and I have been urging
people to abandon this brute hunch, tempting though it may be. But Graham and Horgan
cannot bring themselves to abandon the intuition. More important, they cannot even bring
themselves to acknowledge that their whole case thus comes down to simply announcing
their continued allegiance to a claim that, whether it is true or false, has been declared
false and hence could use some support. They offer no support for it, but they do keep
coming back to it, again and again:
Although phenomenal states may indeed play a PANIC role in human psychological
economy, their phenomenal character is not reducible to that role. It is something more,
something surprising and delightful. (73)
Who says? This is just what I have denied, at length.
Its greater richness is what is surprising and delightful about it, and Tye's theory leaves
this out. (73)
This “greater richness” is just what needs to be demonstrated, not assumed. After all, the
point of the Mary example is supposed to be that although thanks to her perfect
knowledge she can anticipate much of what it will be like to see colors, she cannot
anticipate it all. Since some of us have claimed that there is no reason to deny that all the
“greater richness” is accessible to Mary in advance, this bald assertion by Graham and
Horgan is question-begging. It simply won't do to lean on the obvious fact that under
normal circumstances, indeed under any circumstances except the wildly improbable
extreme circumstances of this thought experiment, Mary would learn something.
But she will experience surprise and unanticipated delight, upon release from her
monochromatic environment—which presumably should lead her to repudiate the
materialist theory she previously accepted. (74)
So they say. Now thin materialism may, in the end, be false, but you can't argue against it
by just saying “Surely not!” I have claimed that the richness we appreciate, the richness
that we rely on to anchor our acts of inner ostension and
end p.19

recognition is composed of and explained by the complex set of dispositional properties


that Tye has called PANIC properties. But Graham and Horgan make the mistake of
assuming that there is, in addition to all this, a layer of “direct acquaintance” with
“phenomenal properties.” They say baldly:
There is also direct acquaintance with phenomenal character itself, acquaintance that
provides the experiential basis for those recognitional/discriminatory capacities. (2000:
73)
And also:
She claims to be delighted. … Auto-phenomenology suggests strongly, very strongly, that
she is right about this: the intrinsic phenomenal character of color experience is distinct
from, and provides the basis for, these recognitional/discriminatory capacities. (77)
This, according to me, is just the reverse of what's true. These capacities are themselves
the basis for the (illusory) belief that one's experience has “intrinsic phenomenal
character,” and we first-persons have no privileged access at all into the workings of
these capacities. That, by the way, is why we shouldn't do auto-phenomenology. It leads
us into temptation: the temptation to take our own first-person convictions not as data but
as the undeniable truth.
So on his [Tye's] story, Mary Mary's post-release heterophenomenological claims
evidently must be viewed as rationally inappropriate, and thus as embodying some kind
of error or illusion. That is the basic problem: the apparent failure to provide adequate
theoretical accommodation for the manifest phenomenological facts. (77)
The basic problem, they say, is dealing with these “manifest” facts, but it's only a
problem if, in fact, she will learn something. It is not a problem for my view (and Tye's,
if he'll join the thin materialists): she won't learn anything and won't be surprised; there
are no such manifest phenomenological facts. At this point, if you are like many of my
students, you are beset with frank incredulity. Of course Mary learns something on
release! She has to! Oh? Then please give me an argument, based on premises we can all
accept, that demonstrates this. But I have never seen such an argument even attempted.
“It stands to reason!” people say, and then they decline to offer any reasons, thinking
them somehow uncalled for. I call for them.
In response to the previous paragraph in an earlier draft, Bill Lycan has answered the call:
Here's a way to see why some of us think Mary does learn something. What one knows
when one knows w.i.l. [what it's like] to experience a blue sensation is ineffable; at least,
it's very tough to put into (noncomparative) words. One resorts to the frustrated
demonstrative: “It's like … this.” The reason physically omniscient Mary doesn't know
what it's like is that the ineffable and/or the ineliminably demonstrative can't be deduced,
or even induced or abduced, from a body of impersonal scientific information. (personal
communication)
I daresay that Lycan speaks for many who are sure that Mary learns something, so now
we have an explicit rendering of a background presumption of ineffability and an
illustration of the role it plays in the argument I call for. Now what about
end p.20

that argument? First of all, nobody could deny that these propositions ventured by Lycan
are large theoretical claims, not minimal logical intuitions or the immediate, unvarnished
judgments of experience. What one knows when one knows what it's like to experience a
blue sensation is ineffable. I suppose the concept of ineffability being appealed to here
would get elaborated along these lines:
It is not the case that there is a string of demonstrative-free sentences of natural language,
of any length, that adequately expresses the knowledge of what it is like to experience a
blue sensation.
One would like to see that proved. (I'm being ironic. Of all the things one might want to
construct a formal theory of, ineffability is way down the list, but it might be worthwhile
to consider the difficulty of any such undertaking.) Presumably one wants to contrast the
ineffability of what it's like to experience a blue sensation with, say, the ready effability
(if I may) of what it's like to experience a triangle.
Someone who has never seen or touched a triangle can presumably be told in a few well-
chosen words just what to expect, and when they experience their first triangle, they
should have no difficulty singling it out as such on the basis of the brief description they
had been given. They will learn nothing. With blue and red it is otherwise—that, at any
rate, is the folk wisdom relied upon by Jackson's example. (He wouldn't have gotten far
with a thought experiment about Mary the geometer who was prevented from seeing or
touching triangles.) But if what it is like to see triangles can be adequately conveyed in a
few dozen words, and what it is like to see Paris by moonlight in May can be adequately
conveyed in a few thousand words (an empirical estimate based on the variable success
of actual attempts by novelists), are we really so sure that what it is like to see red or blue
can't be conveyed to one who has never seen colors in a few million or billion words?
What is it about the experience of red, or blue, that makes this task impossible? (And
don't just say, They're ineffable. We are enjoined by the extremity of the thought
experiment to take this seriously.) Remember, Mary knows everything about color that
can be learned by physical science, and she presumably has the attention span and powers
of comprehension required to handle 10 billion words on what it is like to see red as
easily as she does twenty-five words or less on triangles. Lycan says, “At least it's very
tough to put into (noncomparative) words,” but this is not a thought experiment about
difficulty; it's a thought experiment about impossibility. The fact that people find it hard
to imagine that any description of what it's like to see red could do the job is negligible
support. Faced with such a formidable task, one does indeed fall back on what Lycan
aptly calls the “frustrated demonstrative,” but it is a long way from the undeniable claim
that it is very tough to think of ways of characterizing what it is like without resorting to
such private demonstratives, to the grand claim that such private demonstratives are,
strictly speaking, ineliminable. And only absolute ineliminability would carry any weight
in an argument against the possibility of Mary inferring what it would be like for her to
see red. So I stick to my guns. The standard presumption that Mary learns something, that
Mary could not have figured out just what it would be like for her to see colors, is a bit of
folk psychology with nothing but tradition—so far—in its favor.
end p.21

You Had to Be There

Another unargued intuition exploited by the Mary intuition pump comes in different
varieties, all descended inauspiciously from Locke and Hume (think of Hume's missing
shade of blue). This is the idea that the “phenomenality” or “intrinsic phenomenal
character” or “greater richness”—whatever it is—cannot be constructed or derived out of
lesser ingredients. Only actual experience (of color, for instance) can lead to the
knowledge of what that experience is like. Put so boldly, its question-beggingness stands
out like a sore thumb, or so I once thought, but apparently not, since versions of it still get
articulated. Here are two, drawn from Tye and Lycan:
Now, in the case of knowing via phenomenal concepts, knowing what it is like to
undergo a phenomenal state type P demands the capacity to represent the phenomenal
content of P under those concepts. But one cannot possess a predicative phenomenal
concept unless one has actually undergone token states to which it applies. (Tye 1995:
169) 3
As Nagel emphasizes, to know w.i.l., one must either have had the experience oneself, in
the first person, from the inside, or been told w.i.l. by someone who has had it and is
psychologically very similar to oneself. (Lycan 2003: 389) 4
The role of this presupposition is revealed in the many attempts in the literature to
guarantee that Mary doesn't cheat, somehow smuggling the experience of color into her
cell. What special care must be taken to prevent Mary from taking surreptitious sips from
the well of color? The blockades erected by Jackson in his original telling have long been
recognized as insufficient as they stand. Mary might, for instance, innocently rub her
closed eyes one day and create some colored “phosphenes” (try it—I just got a nice, deep
indigo one right in the middle of my visual field). Or she might use her vast knowledge to
engage in some transcranial magnetic stimulation of her color-sensitive cortical regions,
producing even gaudier effects for her to sort out. Should a sophisticated alarm system be
installed in her brain, to cut short any dream “in color” that she might innocently wander
into by happenstance? Is it in fact possible for a person to dream in color if that person
has never seen colors while awake? (Whaddya think? Some might be tempted to respond:
“Naw. The colors have to get in there through open eyes in order to be available for later
use in dreaming.” That's the Lockean premise laid bare, and presumably nobody would
be seduced by it in such a raw form today.) If Mary's color vision system is still intact—a
nontrivial empirical assumption, given what is known about the ready reassignment of
unused cortical resources in other regards—then she already has “in there” everything she
needs to experience color; it just hasn't been stimulated. (That, at any rate, is the
stipulation on which the thought experiment depends, however unrealistic it may be
empirically.) A dream could trigger the requisite activity as readily, presumably, as any
external stimulus to the open eyes. There are no doubt myriad ways of short-circuiting
the standard causal pattern and producing color experience in the absence of external
world color.
More ominously for the prospects of the thought experiment, there are no doubt myriad
ways of adjusting the standard causal pattern to produce some state of the brain that is
almost the same as the sort of state that underlies standard color experience, but that
differs in ways that subvert the clarity of the scenario and what it is meant to prove. What
started out as a crisp, clean, “intuitive” predicament is being pulled out of shape by the
inconvenient complications of science. According to the original thought experiment, it is
the subjective, internal experience of color, however produced, that is held to be a
prerequisite for knowing what it is like to see red, but now that this thesis has lost its
naïve anchoring in eyes-open-and-awake, it cannot so readily be distinguished from other
states of mind that have many of the effects of experiences of color without clearly being
experiences of color. To take the most obvious case, if you right now imagine you are
seeing a red rose, do you thereby experience red? (Here is an argument, if a need for one
is felt: imagining anything is having an experience, so imagining a red rose is having an
experience as of a red rose, which is different from having an experience as of a yellow
rose, and the difference must be that in the former case of imagining, you have an
experience of red.) As plausible as this can be made to seem, if it is endorsed, triviality
looms for the Mary argument: to know what it is like to experience red is to imagine what
it is like and imagine it correctly; but to imagine experiencing red just is to experience
red, so it follows trivially that you can't know what it is like to experience red until you
have experienced red.
We are told that Mary in her cell can't imagine what it's like to experience red, try as she
might. But suppose she doesn't accept this limitation and does try her best, cogitating for
hours on end, and one day she tells us she just got lucky and succeeded. “Hey,” she says,
“I was just day-dreaming, and I stumbled across what it's like to see red, and, of course,
once I noticed what I was doing I tested my imagination against everything I knew, and I
confirmed that I had, indeed, imagined what it's like to see red!” Doubting her, we test
her by showing her a display of three differently colored circles, and she immediately
identifies the red one as red. 5 What would we conclude?
end p.23

A. Jackson was wrong; Mary can figure out what it's like to see red in the absence of any
experience of red; or
A. Jackson was wrong; Mary can figure out what it's like to see red in the absence of any
experience of red; or
B.Mary didn't figure out what it is like to see red; she had to resort to (highly intelligent,
theory-guided) exercises of imagining in order to come to know what it is like to see
red. By imagining red, she was actually illustrating Jackson's point, not refuting it. As
her example shows, you can't know what it's like before you've actually experienced
what it's like.

An awkward moment: a simple variation on the tale that clearly refutes it or clearly
vindicates it, depending on how you interpret what happened. If B is the only conclusion
Jackson intended, then we philosophers have been wasting a lot of time and energy on
what appears to be a relatively trivial definitional issue: nothing is going to be allowed to
count as a state of knowing what it's like to see red without also counting as an
experience of red.
Before looking more closely at this contretemps, let's consider one other variation, one I
would have thought was the obvious variation for philosophers: Swamp Mary. 6
Suppressing my gag reflex and my giggle reflex, here she is:
Swamp Mary: Just as standard Mary is about to be released from prison, still virginal
regarding colors and aching to experience “the additional and extreme surprise, the
unanticipated delight, or the utter amazement that lie in store for her” (Graham and
Horgan 2000: 82), a bolt of lightning rearranges her brain, putting it by Cosmic
Coincidence into exactly the brain state she was just about to go into after first seeing a
red rose. (She is left otherwise unharmed of course; this is a thought experiment.) So
when, a few seconds later, she is released, and sees for the first time a colored thing (that
red rose), she says just what she would say on seeing her second or nth red rose. “Oh
yeah, right, a red rose. Been there, done that.”
Let me try to ensure that the point of this variation is not lost. I am not discussing the case
in which the bolt of lightning gives Swamp Mary a hallucinatory experience of a red rose.
That is, of course, one more possibility, but it is not the possibility I am introducing. I am
supposing instead that the bolt of lightning puts Swamp Mary's brain into the
dispositional state, the competence state, that an experience of a red rose would have put
her brain into had such an experience (hallucinatory or not) occurred. So, after her
Cosmic Accident, Swamp Mary may think that she's seen a red rose, experienced red,
been in a token brain state of the type that subserves experiences of red, but she hasn't.
It's just as if she had. Maybe she wrongly remembers or seems to remember (just like
Swampman) having seen a red rose, or maybe, in spite of her lacking any such episodic
memories, her competences are otherwise all as if she had had such episodes in her past.
(After all, you could forget your first color experiences and still have phenomenal
concepts, couldn't you?) Ex hypothesi, she didn't have any such experiences, whatever
she now thinks; any bogus memories of color were inserted illicitly in her memory box
end p.24

by the lightning bolt. Hey, [surely] it's logically possible. Swamp Mary is exactly like
Mary, an atom-for-atom duplicate of Mary at every moment of her life except for a brief
interlude of lightning that performs the accidental (but not supernatural) feat of doing in a
flash exactly what Mary's looking at the rose would do by more normal causal routes. It
follows that those who think “that there are certain concepts that … can only be
possessed and deployed on the basis of having undergone the relevant conscious
experiences oneself” (Graham and Horgan 2000, speaking of Tye 1995: 65) may be right
as a matter of contingent fact, but it is logically possible for one to acquire this enviable
ability by accidental means. (These words stick in my throat, but I'm playing the game as
best I can.)

RoboMary

We now have two routes to Mary's post-release knowingness: the Approved Path of
“undergoing the relevant conscious experiences oneself” and the logically possible
Cosmic Accident Path. The second path is a throwaway, not worth discussing. What is
worth discussing is a third route to this summit: not a pseudomiracle but an ascent by
good hard work: Mary puts all her scientific knowledge of color to use and figures out
exactly what it is like to see red (and green and blue) and hence is not the least bit
surprised when she sees her first rose. This third path is hard to imagine, certainly, and as
we have just seen, its difficulty is complicated by the threat of a retreat into circularity. It
is high time to make the task easier, mounting a positive account that just might convince
a few philosophers that they really can imagine it after all. I'm here to help. I will begin
with a deliberately simple-minded version, for clarity, and gradually add the
complications that the disbelievers insist on. In the spirit of cooperative reverse-
engineering, I'm numbering the knobs on my intuition pump, and adding comments on
how the knob settings agree or differ from other models of the basic intuition pump.

1.RoboMary is a standard Mark 19 robot, except that she was brought on line without
color vision; her video cameras are black and white, but everything else in her
hardware is equipped for color vision, which is standard in the Mark 19.

Hold everything. Before turning to the interesting bits, I must consider what many will
view as a pressing objection:
Robots don't have color experiences! Robots don't have qualia. This scenario isn't
remotely on the same topic as the story of Mary the color scientist.
I suspect that many will want to endorse this objection, but they really must restrain
themselves, on pain of begging the question most blatantly. Contemporary materialism, at
least in my version of it, cheerfully endorses the assertion that we are robots of a sort—
made of robots made of robots. Thinking in terms of robots is a useful exercise, since it
removes the excuse that we don't yet know enough about brains to say just what is going
on that might be relevant, permitting a sort of woolly romanticism about the mysterious
powers of brains to cloud our judgment. If materialism is true, it should be possible (“in
principle!”) to build a material
end p.25
thing—call it a robot brain—that does what a brain does, and hence instantiates the same
theory of experience that we do. Those who rule out my scenario as irrelevant from the
outset are not arguing for the falsity of materialism; they are assuming it, and just
illustrating that assumption in their version of the Mary story. That might be interesting
as social anthropology, but is unlikely to shed any light on the science of consciousness. 7
Back to knob 1. Just like Mary, RoboMary's internal equipment is “normal” for color
vision but she is being peripherally prevented—from birth—from getting the appropriate
input. RoboMary's black-and-white cameras stand in nicely for the isolation of human
Mary, and we can let her wander at will through the psychophysics and neuroscience
journals reading with her black-and-white-camera eyes.

2.While waiting for a pair of color cameras to replace her black-and-white cameras,
RoboMary learns everything she can about the color vision of Mark 19s. She even
brings colored objects into her prison cell along with normally color-sighted Mark 19s
and compares their responses—internal and external—to hers.

This was something that Mary could do, of course, only somewhat more tediously—she
had to watch black-and-white TV while conducting all the experiments she needed to get
that admirably complete compendium of physical information. This suggests a modest
improvement that could be made in Jackson's original experiment, in which Mary's eyes
are declared normal, and the entire color blockade has to be accomplished with prison
walls, confiscation of mirrors, white gloves, and so on. As various commentators have
observed, such a world would still be an ample source of chromatic input—shadows, and
the like, not to mention the different shades of “white.” It would have been a lot cleaner
for Jackson's original telling if he had stipulated that Mary had a pair of camcorders with
black-and-white eyepieces strapped over her eyes, peering at the world all her life like
somebody videotaping her vacation in Europe. (Or, slightly more science-fictionally, he
might have imagined Mary not imprisoned but with “filters” implanted on her optic
nerves, permitting only black-and-white signals through.)

3. She learns all about the million-shade color-coding system that all Mark 19s have.
We don't know that human beings have the same color-coding system. Probably they
don't, but this is just a complication we can leave out; if Mary knows everything, she
knows all the variations of human color-coding, including her own.

4.Using her vast knowledge, she writes some code that enables her to colorize the input
from her black-and-white cameras (à la Ted Turner's cable network) according to
voluminous data she gathers about what colors things in the world are, and how Mark
19s normally encode these. So now when she looks with her black-and-white cameras
end p.26
at a ripe banana, she can first see it in black and white, as pale gray, and then imagine it
as yellow (or any other color) by just engaging her colorizing prosthesis, which can
swiftly look up the standard ripe-banana color-number-profile and digitally insert it in
each frame in all the right pixels. After a while, she decides to leave the prosthesis turned
on all the time, automatically imagining the colors of things as they come into focus in
her black-and-white camera eyes.

Isn't this simply the robot version of phosphenes and transcranial magnetic stimulation—
forbidden ways of getting color experience into RoboMary? Or is it rather a way of
dramatizing the immense knowledge of color “physiology” that RoboMary, like Mary,
enjoys? What is either of them allowed to do with their knowledge? Is this a cheat or isn't
it?
Let's turn the knob both ways, and see what happens. In the first, and simplest, setting,
we declare that just as Mary is entitled to use her imagination in any way she likes in her
efforts to come up with an anticipation of what it's going to be like to see colors,
RoboMary is entitled to use her imagination, and that is just what she is doing. After all,
no hardware additions are involved: she is just considering, by stipulation, what it might
be like to see color under various conditions. (We can suppose she goes to the trouble of
considering dozens of variant colorization codings, so she has entertained many different
hypotheses about what it is like to see red and other colors and has settled, defeasibly, on
the one she thinks is best.)
5.She wonders if the ersatz coloring scheme she's installed in herself is high fidelity. So
during her research and development phase, she checks the numbers in her registers
(the registers that transiently store the information about the colors of the things in
front of her cameras) with the numbers in the same registers of other Mark 19s looking
at the same objects with their color-camera eyes, and makes adjustments when
necessary, gradually building up a good version of normal Mark 19 color vision.

In the case of RoboMary, it is obvious what sorts of use she can make of her knowledge
about color and color vision in Mark 19s. Much less obvious, of course, is what use
human Mary could make of her knowledge. But that just shows how treacherous the
original intuition pump is; it discourages us from even trying to imagine the task facing
Mary if she wants to figure out what it is like to see red.

6.The big day arrives. When she finally gets her color cameras installed, and disables her
colorizing software, and opens her eyes, she notices … nothing. In fact, she has to
check to make sure she has the color cameras installed. She has learned nothing. She
already knew exactly what it would be like for her to see colors just the way other
Mark 19s do.

Locked RoboMary

Too easy! Now let's turn the knob and consider the way RoboMary must proceed if she is
prohibited from tampering with her color-experience registers. I don't know how Mary
could be crisply rendered incapable of using her knowledge to put her own brain into the
relevant imaginative and experiential states, but I can easily describe the software that
will prevent RoboMary from doing it. In order to prevent this sort of self-stimulation
skullduggery (if that is what it is), we arrange for RoboMary's color-vision system—the
array of registers that transiently hold the codes for each pixel in Mary's visual field,
whether seen or imagined—to be restricted to gray-scale values. This is simple: we
arrange to code the gray-scale values (white through many shades of gray to black) with
numbers below a thousand, let's say, and simply filter out (by subtraction) any values for
chromatic shades in the million-shade subjective spectrum of Mark 19s—and we put
unbreakable security on this subroutine. Try as she might, RoboMary can't jigger her
“brain” into any of the states of normal Mark 19 color vision or imagination. She has all
her hard-won knowledge of that system of color vision, but she can't use it to adjust her
own hardware so that it matches that of her conspecifics. Her color-representing
hardware is disabled.
This doesn't faze her for a minute, however. Using a few terabytes of spare (undedicated)
RAM, she builds a model of herself and from the outside, just as she would if she were
building a model of some other being's color vision, she figures out just how she would
react in every possible color situation.
I find that people have trouble imagining just how intimate and extensive this “third-
person” knowledge would be, so let's indulge in a few illustrative details, to help furnish
our imaginations. She obtains a ripe tomato and plunks it down in front of her black-and-
white-cameras, obtaining some middling gray-scale values, which lead her into a variety
of sequel states. She automatically does the usual “shape from shading” algorithm,
obtaining normal convictions about the bulginess and so forth, and visually guided
palpation gives her lots of convictions about its softness. She consults an encyclopedia
about the normal color range of tomatoes, and she knows that these gray-scales in these
lighting conditions are consistent with redness, but of course nothing comes to her
directly about color, since she has black-and-white cameras, and moreover, she can't use
her book learning to adjust these values, since her color system is locked. So, as
advertised, she can't put herself directly into the red-tomato-experiencing state. She looks
at the (gray-appearing) tomato and reacts however she does, resulting in, say, thousands
of temporary settings of her cognitive machinery. Call that voluminous state of her total
response to the locked gray-tomato-viewing state A. This is a state of her knowing what it
is like for her to see a gray tomato. Then she compares state A with the state that her
model of herself goes into. Her model isn't locked; it readily goes into the state that any
normal Mark 19 would go into when seeing a red tomato. And since this is her model of
herself, it then goes into state B, the state she would have gone into if her color system
hadn't been locked. RoboMary notes all the differences between state A, the state she was
thrown into by her locked color system, and state B, the state she would have been
thrown into had her color system not been locked, and—being such a clever,
indefatigable, and nearly omniscient being—makes all the necessary adjustments and
puts herself into state B. State B is, by definition, not an illicit state of color experience; it
is the state that such an illicit state of color experience normally causes (in a being just
exactly like her). But now she can know just what it is like for her to see a red tomato,
because she has managed to put herself into just such a dispositional state—this is, of
course, the hard-work analog of the
end p.28

miraculous feat wrought by the Cosmic Accident of the lightning bolt in the case of
Swamp Mary.
Her epistemic situation when she has completed this Vast (Dennett, 1995: 109) but not
infinite labor is indistinguishable from her epistemic situation in the case in which we
allowed her to colorize her actual input—and it had been conceded that in that epistemic
situation she had known what it is like to see red, but the case was thrown out for
cheating. So there are no surprises for her when her color system is unlocked and she's
given color cameras. In fact, when she completes her model of herself, down to the very
last detail, she can arrange for it to take over for her locked onboard color system, a spare
color system she can use much as Dennett used his spare computer brain in “Where Am
I?” (in Dennett 1978). Remember, RoboMary knows all the physical facts, and that's a
lot.
Objection: RoboMary can't put herself into state B, the state her model is driven into by
its unlocked color system, because that state involves the wielding of what Tye calls
“phenomenal concepts,” and these are strictly parasitic on actual phenomenal
experiences, which they quote or reproduce, in effect, when they are exploited in such
demonstrative thoughts as “that is what red looks like.” Part of having the competence
that comes (normally) from experience is being able later to use demonstratives with
internal referents of this sort.
Oh really? Why can't RoboMary form demonstratives that allude to the relevant states of
her model, instead of her own locked color system? And why wouldn't they be just as
good? Because they wouldn't have that extra je ne sais quoi? But that is just what has not
been shown to exist. In the case of RoboMary, the temptation to posit a rather magical
extra property that adheres somehow to her entering into these color-system states (which
are basically just numbers in registers, after all) is weak. The temptation should be
resisted in the case of Mary, too. It has no legitimate business to do and tends to distort
the imagination covertly.
Objection (thanks to the editors of this volume): For RoboMary to self-program herself
into state B is cheating just as much as for her to self-program herself into the
“experiencing red” state. What matters is whether Mary (or RoboMary) can deduce what
it's like to see red from her complete physical knowledge, not whether one could use
one's physical knowledge in some way or other to acquire knowledge of what it's like to
see in color.
I just don't see that this is what matters. So far as I can see, this objection presupposes an
improbable and extravagant distinction between (pure?) deduction and other varieties of
knowledgeable self-enlightenment. I didn't describe RoboMary as “programming”
herself; I said she “notes all the differences between state A, the state she was thrown into
by her locked color system, and state B, the state she would have been thrown into had
her color system not been locked, and—being such a clever, indefatigable, and nearly
omniscient being—makes all the necessary adjustments and puts herself into state B.” If I
use my knowledge to imagine myself into your epistemic shoes in some regard, is this
“self-programming”? And if so, what is the import of this characterization for the
knowledge argument? Consider Rosemary, another of Mary's daughters, who is entirely
normal and free to move around the colored world, and is otherwise her mother's equal in
physical knowledge of color. Rosemary has a hard time imagining her mother's epistemic
end p.29

predicament. What must it be like, she wonders, not yet to know what it is like to see red?
She is burdened, it seems, with too much knowledge (cf. my example of the newly
discovered Bach Cantata in Consciousness Explained, 1991: 388). This is, presumably, a
psychological impediment to her imagination, but not an epistemological lack.
I take the example of RoboMary to shift the burden of proof. Thin materialism, the view
that Mary, in her well nigh unimaginable circumstances, would not be surprised after all,
has a lot to be said for it. Enough, surely, to undermine the blithe confidence with which
philosophers have presumed otherwise.
A closing observation: I find that some philosophers think that my whole approach to
qualia is not playing fair. I don't respect the standard rules of philosophical thought
experiments. “But Dan, your view is so counterintuitive!” No kidding. That's the whole
point. Of course it is counterintuitive. Nowhere is it written that the true materialist
theory of consciousness should be blandly intuitive. I have all along insisted that it may
be very counterintuitive. That's the trouble with “pure” philosophical method here. It has
no resources for developing, or even taking seriously, counterintuitive theories, but since
it is a very good bet that the true materialist theory of consciousness will be highly
counterintuitive (like the Copernican theory—at least at first), this means that “pure”
philosophy must just concede impotence and retreat into conservative conceptual
anthropology until the advance of science puts it out of its misery. Philosophers have a
choice: they can play games with folk concepts (ordinary language philosophy lives on,
as a kind of aprioristic social anthropology) or they can take seriously the claim that some
of these folk concepts are illusion generators. The way to take that prospect seriously is to
consider theories that propose revisions to those concepts.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to Diana Raffman, Bill Lycan, Victoria McGeer, and my students for many
discussions, on e-mail and in person, on the ins and outs of this argument.

References

Dennett, D. (1978). Brainstorms: Philosophical Essays on Mind and Psychology.


Cambridge: MIT Press.
Dennett, D. (1988). Quining Qualia. In Consciousness in Contemporary Science, ed. A.
Marcel and E. Bisiach: 42–77. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Dennett, D. (1991). Consciousness Explained. Boston: Little, Brown.
Dennett, D. (1994). Get Real: Reply to My Critics. Philosophical Topics 22: 505–68.
Dennett, D. (1995). Darwin's Dangerous Idea. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Dennett, D. (1996). Cow-Sharks, Magnets, and Swampman. Mind and Language 11: 76–
77.
Graham, G., and Horgan, T. (2000). Mary Mary, Quite Contrary. Philosophical Studies
99: 59–87.
Hofstadter, D. (1981). Reflections. In The Mind's I, ed. D. Hofstadter and D. Dennett:
373–82. New York: Basic Books.
Jackson, F. (1982). Epiphenomenal Qualia. Philosophical Quarterly 32: 127–36.

end p.30

Lycan, W. (1996). Consciousness and Experience. Cambridge: MIT Press.


Lycan, W. (2003). Perspectival Representation and the Knowledge Argument. In
Consciousness: New Philosophical Essays,ed. Q. Smith and A. Jokic: 384–95. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
McConnell, J. (1994). In Defense of the Knowledge Argument. Philosophical Topics 22:
157–87.
McGeer, V. (2003). The Trouble with Mary. Pacific Philosophical Quarterly 84: 384–
93.
Robinson, H. (1993). Dennett on the Knowledge Argument. Analysis 53: 174–77.

Tye, M. (1995). Ten Problems of Consciousness. Cambridge: MIT Press.


end p.31

two So This Is What It's Like A Defense of the Ability Hypothesis


Laurence Nemirow

Many efforts have been made to debunk or refute the ability hypothesis (hereafter, AH),
the theory that knowing what an experience is like may be identified with abilities to
imagine, recognize, and remember, as opposed to propositional knowledge. 1 The
eagerness to attack AH undoubtedly is driven by naked intuition. As David Chalmers
(1996) has said, “Its main problem is that it is deeply implausible” (144; emphasis
added). Such intuition-backed objections are worth only so much, however, for intuitive
certainty, even when useful as a starting point, is an inherently unreliable guide to
philosophical insight. “What we are tempted to say,” Wittgenstein (1958) pointed out,
“is, of course, not philosophy—but its raw material” (§ 254).
Of more interest are the objective grounds for and against AH, which was developed as a
response to the Knowledge Argument (hereafter, KA)—a purported proof of the
existence of “phenomenal information” (as defined below). Given the reasoned nature of
this debate, it betrays the spirit of the inquiry to base an attack on AH on the ground that
it is intuitively unsatisfying (although I shall consider a variation of AH that is designed
to avoid this supposed failing).
Phenomenal versus Physical Information

Central to the dispute between AH and KA is the concept of “phenomenal information,”


which signifies information about experience that is not “physical information” in the
broadest sense of that term. 2 “Physical information” encompasses (roughly) information
expressible in the languages of physics, chemistry, and biology.
The knowledge argument purports to demonstrate the existence of phenomenal
information that is learned by having experience. To do this, it posits black-and-white
Mary, a scientist who knows everything science can ever teach about color vision (i.e., all
relevant physical information), but not what seeing color “is like” because she has always
lived in a colorless world. Despite her mastery of the science of color vision, KA asserts,
Mary learns a new fact when she is first visually exposed to the color red (namely, what
it's like to see red) that cannot be physical information (given that Mary already knew all
the science). 3 By contrast, AH grants that Mary learns something new, but maintains that
her new knowledge is nonpropositional know-how rather than anything factual.
Underlying AH is the observation that although KA professes to display knowledge of
what it's like to see red that is not expressible in physical terms, KA merely assumes that
such knowledge is on a par with knowledge of physical information—that is, that the
former, like the latter, is propositional knowledge. AH counters KA by adducing reasons
against the soundness of this assumption and by arguing that knowledge of what it's like
to see red is nothing but practical knowledge.

Overview of the Lewis Abilities

In his account of AH, David Lewis (1983, 1988) famously identified knowing what an
experience is like with the practical knowledge that consists of the interrelated abilities to
imagine, remember, and recognize the experience. I will describe these “Lewis abilities”
in the context of color experiences.
For purposes of AH, the ability to imagine a color experience amounts to the ability to
see a color in the mind's eye—to visualize it. People normally acquire this imaginative
ability from firsthand (or personal) memories of color experience. A gardener tending a
plot, for example, may cultivate a particularly striking rose, and, by seeing it for the first
time, may develop the ability to remember and to visualize its particular shade of red.
For purposes of AH, the ability to remember can be analyzed as two abilities: the ability
to visually remember having a color experience (to remember an experience of seeing a
red rose) and the ability to visually remember the experience of visualizing a color (to
remember the experience of visualizing rose red). 4 The exercise of each of these abilities
requires an act of visual imagination, although the reverse is not always true. All such
remembering is imagining, but not all such imagining is remembering. Remembering
may be regarded as a special context for imagining.
Finally, the relevant ability to recognize a color experience is the ability to distinguish it
from others—to single out particular experiences in a continuum of color experiences that
are connected through the relationship of similarity. A gardener
end p.33

exercises this ability in the course of comparing the red of the rose that she is (currently)
tending to the color of the (imagined) rose that she aspires to grow or to the color of the
(remembered) prize rose that grew in her mother's garden. As this example shows,
imaginative and mnemonic abilities—such as the ability to visualize rose red and the
ability to remember seeing a certain red rose—can also function to distinguish and
identify experiences.

Objections to AH from Gifted Visualizers and Impaired Observers

A threshold contention of AH is that knowing what it's like to have an experience is


coextensive with possession of the Lewis abilities. Rejecting this contention, Earl Conee
(1994) deploys two thought experiments to show that the ability to imagine having an
experience of a certain kind is neither necessary nor sufficient for knowing what it's like
to have that kind of experience.
Against the sufficiency claim, Conee posits Martha, a woman who is highly skilled at
visualizing intermediate shades of color that she has never seen by interpolating between
colors she can remember having seen. Informed that cherry red is a shade of red midway
between burgundy red and fire engine red, Martha is able to imagine cherry red.
However, at the moment before she first visualizes that shade, “it is clear that Martha
does not yet know what it is like to see something cherry red” (Conee 1994: 138). She
cannot gain such knowledge, according to Conee, before she actually imagines cherry
red.
To argue that imaginative ability is not necessary for knowledge of what it's like, Conee
posits a woman, call her Betty, who lacks all visual imagination but who nonetheless
“clearly knows what it is like to see something red” while intently staring at a red tomato.
5

Martha poses no problem in principle for AH. 6 To deal with Martha, we can agree with
Lewis that knowing what an experience is like depends not only on the ability to
visualize the experience but also on the ability to remember—itself an imaginative
ability. More precisely, Martha has the ability to know what it is like to see cherry red
after she is able to remember visualizing cherry red. The latter mnemonic ability confers
upon Martha knowledge of what it is like to see cherry red after she first visualizes it,
even though she has never seen that shade of red and so cannot remember seeing cherry
red (Conee 1994, n. 8).
As to Betty, Conee fails to address a risk inherent in his strategy of hypothetically
severing important components of an individual's mental apparatus and making
assumptions about what remains. The risk is that such radical hypothetical alterations will
have major unintended consequences.
By stripping Betty of all ability to imagine color, Conee may have inadvertently denied
her the knowledge at issue—namely, knowledge of what it's like to see red
end p.34
while intently staring at a red tomato. When we attribute knowledge of what it's like to
see tomato red to ordinary people who are staring at a red tomato, we assume that they
can activate a panoply of imaginative abilities. For example, seeing a red tomato, I can
compare its hue to other colors that I can visualize or remember; I can imagine that the
redness of the tomato occupies a larger or smaller portion of my visual field than it
actually does; and I can imagine variations on the tomato's redness. If I were unable to
activate any such abilities, you should be reluctant to agree that I know what it's like to
see tomato red. So incapacitated, I would lack conscious awareness of the tomato's color.
More generally, knowing what an ongoing experience is like by virtue of having that
experience entails, if nothing else, conscious awareness of the experience, which itself
involves abilities to reflect upon the experience, not merely to endure it—or in the
particular case of the tomato, to stare intently at its redness. 7
Moreover, deprived of the ability to imagine colors, Betty must also lack visual memory
of colors, since visual memory implicates visual imaginative abilities. Lacking visual
memory, Betty cannot visually remember seeing the color red from moment to
moment—even as she sees it. So restricted, Betty's experience lacks the coherence that
characterizes conscious awareness, and she cannot be said to know what it is like to see
red for this reason, too.
In summary, AH asserts that imaginative abilities are essential to knowledge of what it's
like to see red. Conee begs the question against AH by assuming that Betty, deprived of
these abilities, “clearly” knows what it is like to see something red while she intently
stares at something red.
What would someone be like who really knows what it's like to see a color only while
seeing it? Consider Rex, who has normal abilities to recognize colors visually, and who
can remember seeing colors from moment to moment so long as he is looking at samples
of them, but whose visual memories of any color and related imaginative abilities fade
away almost as soon as he stops looking. (Perhaps seeing a color temporarily jogs his
memory of that color.) Of Rex we can correctly say that he knows what it is like to see
colors only when looking at color samples (and for a few moments more), but not after
his memory fades, even though at all times (including after his memory fades) he could
recognize colors if color samples were placed within his field of vision.
Objection from Knowing with Particularity in the Moment
Michael Tye (2000) raises objections similar to Conee's to the AH correlation between
knowing what it's like and the Lewis abilities. While looking at a red rose for the first
time, Mary knows what it is like not merely to see red, but to see the particular hue of red
before her (call it “red 17 ”). But she does not (Tye claims) obtain the related Lewis
abilities because she cannot without further schooling
end p.35

reliably recognize, imagine, or remember that particular shade of red. Therefore,


according to Tye, although Mary knows what seeing red 17 is like while looking at the
rose, she has not acquired the Lewis abilities in question, and AH must be false.
Tye is mistaken, however, in asserting that his Mary lacks the relevant Lewis abilities
while looking at a sample of red 17 . Consider what abilities Tye's Mary must have in
order to know what it is like to see red 17 while seeing red 17 . First, she must be able to
reliably distinguish red 17 from samples of red 16 and red 18 that are placed before her next
to the sample of red 17 . If she lacked this ability, we would be inclined to deny that she
knows what red 17 looks like even while looking at red 17 , since she can't recognize it.
(We might agree, however, that she knows what it's like to see a more broadly defined
spectrum of color that could be designated “red (16–18) ”.)
Moreover, like Betty's knowledge of tomato red, Mary's knowledge of what it's like to
see red 17 while staring at a sample of red 17 depends critically upon her present ability to
imaginatively manipulate the color (her present ability to imaginatively vary the hue, and
so on). In addition, while seeing red 17 , Mary must be able to remember (at that moment
and from moment to moment) seeing red 17 in order to have the conscious awareness of
experience that is required to know what it is like to see red 17 , although this ability may
quickly lapse when she closes her eyes. 8 In short, Tye's Mary must possess, for the
moment at least, the requisite Lewis abilities to recognize, imagine, and remember red 17 ,
or she would not know what it is like to see red 17 even while looking at a sample of red
17 .
To further test AH's ability to handle Mary's experience with red 17 , assume that some
event diverts Mary's attention from the rose within her visual field, so that she does not
(in this distracted state) know what it's like to see red 17 . 9 Distracted, Mary lacks the
above-referenced recognitional abilities because she cannot recognize another patch of
red 17 as red 17 , and she cannot distinguish red 17 from red 16 and red 18 . When distracted,
she also can neither imaginatively manipulate her vision of red 17 nor remember how to
imagine seeing red 17 . Distraction interrupts Mary's recognitional, imaginative and
mnemonic abilities, and this explains why she does not know what it is like to see red 17
while distracted.
In Tye's examples, Mary's knowledge of what it's like to see red 17 while seeing it is
transitory. So too are the corresponding Lewis abilities because they survive only so long
as Mary is exposed visually—and without distraction—to red 17 . Thus, AH correctly
predicts that Tye's Mary knows what it's like to see red 17 only while she sees it and only
while she remains undistracted.
end p.36

Some Lessons of the Unusual Visualizers

Examples of unusual visualizers have suggested that Lewis was right to identify knowing
what an experience is like with the contemporaneous possession of three related
abilities—the abilities to imagine, remember, and recognize an experience. As Betty and
Tye's Mary illustrate, two of the Lewis abilities—the abilities to imagine and
remember—are necessary for what we think of as conscious awareness of experience,
for, as I have argued, such awareness vanishes when those abilities are disabled.
Though the Lewis abilities normally accompany one another, knowing what it is like
begins to fail when they are separated from each other, as illustrated by Martha (who can
imagine cherry but cannot remember that color before she has either seen it or visualized
it) and by Rex (who can recognize but can neither remember nor imagine color
experiences while he is not seeing color).
The cases of Betty and black-and-white Mary also hold a lesson for the role that the
Lewis abilities play in the language of experience, for Betty's and Mary's mnemonic and
imaginative failures would prevent them from fully participating in ordinary conversation
regarding color experience. People like Betty and black-and-white Mary in her color-
deprived state are not able to associate color terms with their firsthand color experiences,
and so cannot use these terms with what we think of as their full meanings. Though the
Bettys and black-and-white Marys of the world might discuss the color experiences of
other people, they lack the firsthand understanding of color terms that inform the
meaning of those terms for ordinary people. (By comparison, Rex could have at least an
episodic firsthand understanding of a color term, for he could associate the term “sky
blue” with his own visual experience while looking at the sky on a clear day.)
As Betty and Mary illustrate, the Lewis abilities make available to language users
firsthand meanings of color terms by allowing speakers to associate terms for experiences
with their personal experiences. In particular, the ability to recognize colors visually,
together with the mnemonic and imaginative abilities that similarly function to
distinguish and identify experiences, enable language users to reliably associate terms for
color experiences (such as “seeing rose red”) with their own visualizations (e.g., firsthand
visual memories of rose red). Conversely, an impairment of these Lewis abilities would
represent an inability to draw upon the firsthand meanings of color experiences. (I will
have more to say later about limitations on the meaning of color terms for imagination-
impaired speakers.)

Objection from the Ability to Draw Inferences

Janet Levin (1990) finds it difficult for AH to explain why events of imagining can
ground factual assertions about the world. As Levin says, “By being shown an unfamiliar
color, I acquire information about its similarities and compatibilities with other colors,
and its effects on other of our mental states; surely I seem to be acquiring certain facts
about that color and the visual experience of it” (479).

It should come as no surprise, however, that abilities foster propositional knowledge.


This is a garden-variety state of affairs. If I have expertise in dancing the waltz, I can
predict the steps (or possible steps) within the dance from the beginning of a dance
sequence; this does not mean that my dancing expertise is other than know-how.
Similarly, with expertise in speaking English, I can evaluate whether purported sentences
are well formed in that language; but this does not demonstrate that my English-speaking
ability must be interpreted as propositional-based information.
Inferences fostered by abilities are not really inferences at all, in the sense of following
from or being justified by premises, so much as they are the product of reflexive
tendencies (or abilities) to generate certain correct conclusions. In dancing the waltz as an
expert in the waltz, I just know the next move; I don't reason to reach it. If asked to
explain how it is that I judge a weird English sentence (such as Chomsky's sentence, “fish
who fish fish fish fish”) as grammatical, I would be at a loss for words. I just feel that the
sentence is grammatical; I don't infer that it is from any premises that I can state.
Challenged to justify the grammaticalness of the sentence, I would cite my own expertise
as an English-speaker rather than articulate a theory of syntax. In the same vein, if I am
shown a new shade of red, I can place it in a network of similar colors (e.g., between fire
engine red and burgundy, to borrow Conee's example), but I do so almost instinctively,
not by invoking any theoretical principles. If asked to justify a statement comparing the
new shade to others, I might cite my experience with seeing color, or just reiterate my
statement, for example, “because this shade of red is darker than that one and lighter than
this one.” (Black-and-white Mary could also compare colors in her color-deprived state,
but her comparisons would be based on conclusions drawn from a complex assortment of
physical information.) In general, the hallmark of reasoning from ability is the absence of
the need to invoke a theoretical framework in order to validate conclusions.

Objection from Embedded Conditionals

Brian Loar (1990/97) objects to the technique of analyzing statements concerning


experiences as abbreviated descriptions of know-how because this technique cannot
explain how references to what experiences are like can be embedded in conditionals,
such as: “If coconuts did not have this taste, then Q.” There is no way, Loar asserts, to
account for the embedded occurrence of “coconuts have this taste” as a matter of know-
how, although he suggests that “you may get away with saying” that the statement
“Coconuts have this taste” expresses “the mere possession of recognitional know-how.”
Loar is wide of the mark in criticizing AH for failing to analyze terms for experience
(e.g., “Coconuts have this taste”) outside of the scope of any knowledge qualifier. This
criticism condemns AH for failing to satisfy a commitment that it never undertook—the
commitment to analyze naked terms for experience. 10 AH is
end p.38

designed to deal only with certain types of knowledge claims by reducing them to
assertions about practical abilities. It asserts that statements about knowing what an
experience is like are statements about abilities rather than claims to propositional
knowledge. In short, AH is a theory about a certain kind of knowing, and nothing more.
Defenders of AH may freely acknowledge that certain terms (such as “this taste”) refer to
experiences. No part of AH compels its defenders to deny that there are experiences; that
we have a vocabulary to refer to them; or that they may be referenced by demonstratives.
11
Moreover, as a theory about a certain type of knowing, AH is not committed to the
view that our naked references to experiences are reducible to statements about abilities.
(Still to be considered, however, is the import for KA and AH of these acknowledged
limitations on the ambitions of AH.)
Loar could reasonably challenge AH to address conditional statements with respect to
knowing what it's like, such as: “If I didn't know that this is what it's like to taste
coconuts, then Q.” But a proponent of AH could treat “knowing that this is what it's like
to taste coconuts” as equivalent to “being able to recognize, remember, and imagine this
experience as the taste of coconuts,” and could paraphrase the conditional statement as
follows: “If I were unable to recognize, remember, and imagine this as the taste of
coconuts, then Q.”

Objection from Phenomenal Concepts

Martine Nida-Rümelin (1995) challenges proponents of AH to analyze statements that


place phenomenal concepts in idiosyncratic epistemic contexts. In particular, she believes
that the following statement poses difficulties for AH:

1. Marianna believes falsely that the sky appears red to normally sighted people.
Marianna's story will help illuminate the nature of this challenge. Nida-Rümelin first
supposes that Marianna, who is normally sighted (and believes that she is), lives (at all
times through t 1 ) in a black-and-white environment. She is much like black-and-white
Mary, but hasn't necessarily acquired Mary's scientific expertise. Later (at t 2 ), Marianna
becomes acquainted with all the basic colors by viewing “artificial” objects (like walls
and tables). At this stage, she is told the color names (like “orange” and “blue”) that
attach to many naturally occurring objects (like oranges or the sky, respectively), but she
is not allowed to see these things, and she is unable to match a color with a color name.
In fact, she somehow comes to believe that what people normally refer to as “blue” is the
hue that we normally call “red.” Thus, she knows that the term “blue” applies to the sky,
but there is a clear sense in which she does not believe that the sky is blue. To identify
this type
end p.39

of belief, Nida-Rümelin adopts a subscripting convention, under which the following is a


true statement:

2.Marianna does not know at t 2 that the sky appears blue p [i.e., blue phenomenally] to
normally sighted people.

There is also a sense in which Marianna knows, after t 2 , that the sky appears blue to
normally sighted people. Under her subscripting convention, Nida-Rümelin expresses
this thought as follows:

3.Marianna knows at t 2 that the sky appears blue np [i.e., blue nonphenomenally] to
normally sighted people.
Finally (at t 3 ), Marianna is allowed to see the sky and acquires knowledge that the sky
appears blue p to normally sighted people.
Under the subscripting convention, Nida-Rümelin's challenge is more precisely stated as
a request for a proponent of AH to analyze this statement:

4. At t 2 , Marianna believes falsely that the sky appears red p to normally sighted people.
Nida-Rümelin believes that AH cannot analyze (4) because Mary's false belief, as
expressed in (4), results from the absence of factual knowledge, not from the absence of
any ability.

A proponent of AH might consider paraphrasing (4) as follows:

5. At t 2 , if she were to attempt to visualize the color of the sky, Marianna would
visualize red, falsely believing that she is visualizing the color that normally sighted
people visualize when they visualize the color of the sky.

Alternatively:

6.At t 2 , of the activity of visualizing red, Marianna falsely believes that it is the same as
visualizing the color that normally sighted people visualize when they visualize the
color of the sky.

Moreover, at t 3 , the following become true:

7.In attempting to visualize the color of the sky, which in fact appears blue to normally
sighted people, Marianna no longer mistakenly visualizes red.

8.When visualizing red, Marianna no longer falsely believes that she is visualizing the
color of the sky, which in fact looks blue to normally sighted people.

Nida-Rümelin acknowledges the availability of a (roughly) similar type of analysis, but


she denies that it helps AH because it “does not show that Marianna's progress [as of t 3 ]
is not a genuine epistemic one that involves new knowledge of facts” (1995: 235–36).
Nida-Rümelin argues that Marianna acquires a new ability (i.e., to visualize blue in
attempting to visualize the color of the sky) “only because she now has acquired the
phenomenal knowledge needed for this practical ability” (1995: 235–36).
It is quite true, as Nida-Rümelin asserts, that Marianna, at t 3 , has learned new
information, but this new information presents no problem for AH. One fact that she
learns at t 3 may be expressed as follows:
end p.40

9.At t 2 , when Marianna attempted to visualize the color of the sky, Marianna in fact
visualized red.

Alternatively:
10.At t 2 , when visualizing red, Marianna believed that she visualized the color of the
sky.

However, the information expressed by (9) and (10) is not the kind of information that
presents a problem for AH, namely, phenomenal information. To see this, note that
black-and-white Mary (in her color-deprived state) could determine the truth of (9) and
(10) through behavioral tests, perhaps by asking Marianna to pick out samples of the
color that she imagines when she attempts to visualize the sky and comparing that color
(by wavelength) to the color of the sky. Mary could also confirm (9) and (10) by
undertaking a physiological inquiry. 12 Before t 3 —before personally observing the
sky—Marianna herself might have learned the truth of (9) and (10) in a similar fashion or
perhaps by being informed of their accuracy by a credible observer. This shows that the
information reported by (9) and (10) is not the type of information posited by KA
because its acquisition does not depend upon Mary's having had visual experience of
colors.
What is indeed unavailable to both Mary and Marianna (in their color-deprived states) is
the kind of knowledge that Marianna acquired at t 2 , and this may be described as
knowledge of what it's like to see colors. To obtain this knowledge, visual exposure to
colors was required; no number of words would have sufficed. Marianna's epistemic
progress at t 3 , by comparison, did not require that she be exposed to the sky. That
development could have been triggered by a verbal reference to what she already knew at
t 2 —say, by a teacher telling her, “Marianna, the color of your kitchen wall is the same
as the color of the sky!” This new knowledge does not support KA and is harmless for
AH.

Objection from Mental Content

William Lycan (1996) contends that AH cannot do justice to this uncontroversial fact
about imagining: “There is such a thing as getting ‘what it's like’ right, representing truly
rather than falsely, from which it seems to follow that knowing ‘what it's like’ is knowing
a truth” (99).
Is Lycan right to assume that AH is at odds with the assertion that in imagining we
successfully represent the thing imagined? Suppose for the sake of argument that one
indeed conjures up a mental representation of the state of seeing red when one visualizes
red. On this assumption, a proponent of AH may explain that to
end p.41

know what it's like to see red, one must know how to imaginatively conjure up a state
that represents the state of seeing red. Let's call this ability the “Conjuring Red Ability,”
and let us call this variation of AH “Conjuring Red AH.” Of course, as a version of AH,
Conjuring Red AH is intended to be consistent with (indeed, to be a special case of) AH.
The original proponents of AH expressly made room for Conjuring Red AH. 13 They
(we) never imagined that a representational theory of imagination is inconsistent with
AH, and the existence of such an inconsistency should not be taken for granted.
Conjuring Red AH performs a useful rhetorical function because it should capture the
intuitive appeal of the idea behind phenomenal information: that what one does when one
imagines red is to conjure up a mental representation of seeing red. If one shares this
intuition, it should be equally intuitive to propose that knowing what seeing red is like is
knowing how to conjure up such a mental representation.
Proponents of KA may assert that the Conjuring Red Ability itself provides access to
phenomenal information. In conjuring up a mental picture of seeing red, I access a type
of content that gives me access to the essential features of seeing red. As Lycan says, it is
“what we succeed in imagining” that gives us information about the thing imagined.
“And, one would think, contents that afford inferences to propositional conclusions are
themselves propositional” (1996: 96).
However, the assumption that representational content is propositional does not justify
the conclusion that the content qualifies as “phenomenal information.” Tye explains this
well:
From the fact that abilities with which knowing what it is like are identified are abilities
to be in certain propositional states, it certainly does not follow that knowing what it is
like is knowing a truth. What follows is that knowing what it's like consists in abilities,
the exercise of which demands (at the time of exercise) the representation of certain
truths. So what? (Tye 2000: 9)
It also does not follow that any of the information represented by any propositional state
S that an imaginer represents (when he exercises the ability to visualize red) cannot be
known to Mary (in her color-deprived state). We know that, whatever S may be, Mary
cannot (in that state) imaginatively represent S. What has not been established, however,
is that imaginative representation is the only way to know the information that S
represents, or that Mary (in her color-deprived state) cannot know such information. The
ability to model a fact may be one way, but not the only way, to come to know that fact.
14
Without making any commitment to elusive facts, Conjuring Red AH explains why
having the ability to model (conjure up) mental representations of the color red is the
only way to know what it's like to see red.

Knowing the Truth about Experience

But does black-and-white Mary really have the facts about color experience? I have made
what might appear to be some concessions to the contrary. First, I have acknowledged (in
the discussion of Loar) that propositions about one's own experiences and what one's own
experiences are like genuinely refer to experiences. In addition, I have conceded that AH
does not even attempt to reduce or explain away naked references to experiences, that is,
references outside of knowledge qualifiers. Capitalizing on these acknowledgments, a
proponent of KA might argue that knowledge of propositions about experience are what
KA means by “knowing what it's like” and that this is the knowledge that Mary gains
when she is released from captivity and allowed to see colors. 15 If correct, this argument
shows that knowledge of the propositional expression of “what it's like” must elude Mary
in her captive state. Conversely, AH can survive this argument if it can be shown that
black-and-white Mary indeed possesses such propositional knowledge or, if she does not,
that all she is missing are the Lewis abilities.
Consider any proposition about experience the knowledge of which, according to a
proponent of KA, is tantamount to knowing what the experience is like. Perhaps one such
proposition is
(X) This is what it's like to see red
as uttered by Marianna when looking at her kitchen table. (If another candidate for (X) is
preferred, (X) may be replaced in the argument that follows by any other proposition
about experience knowledge that supposedly equates to knowledge of what it is like to
see red. For example, (X) could be replaced in this argument by “This is the experience of
seeing red” or “This is seeing red p ” in Nida-Rümelin's terms.)
To evaluate the import of proposition (X) for KA and AH, we must distinguish two
senses of knowing the truth of (X). 16 A person would know the truth of (X), in the
“coarse-grained” sense, by having the right type of access to the right type of evidence to
achieve knowledge of its truth without regard to the manner in which she is able to
represent or apprehend that truth. 17 Someone might achieve this type of knowledge
without apprehending the truth of (X) from any specified perspective or under any
specified description of the referent of “This.” 18
There are also “fine-grained” senses of knowing (X) to be true, although there is no
unique or dominant “fine-grained” sense of such knowing. Someone would know (X) to
be true in a “fine-grained” sense if she knew its truth from a particular
end p.43

perspective or under a particular description of the referent of “This.” For example, only
Marianna knows (X) from the perspective of the speaker of (X); and black-and-white
Mary is among those who do not know (X) from the perspective of someone who has
experienced the sight of red.
The knowledge that, according to KA, eludes Mary in her captivity must be construed as
knowledge in the coarse-grained sense rather than in any fine-grained sense. The point of
KA is not to assert that black-and-white Mary is ignorant of facts about what it's like to
see colors only as understood from a specific point of view or only under specific
representations. Rather, KA purports to falsify physicalism, which does not deny the
truism that Mary gains new perspectives on experience when released from captivity. 19
Contra physicalism, KA argues for the existence of facts that, regardless of the point of
view from which they are apprehended or how they are represented, are simply out of
Mary's purview. In short, what Mary learns on her release are supposed to be new facts
simpliciter. (In Lewis's terms, KA asserts that Mary's new knowledge “eliminates
possibilities” that her old knowledge did not preclude [1988: 507–09].)
Given KA's opposition to physicalism, a proponent of KA who endorses the view that
knowledge of (X) is knowledge of what it's like to see red is committed to this
proposition:
(Y) Before her release from captivity, black-and-white Mary cannot know the truth of
(X) in the coarse-grained sense.
Yet it is difficult to see how (Y) can be true considering all the science that Mary knows
during her captivity. Given her complete knowledge of physiology, Mary could
determine when a person is normally sighted and what physical conditions are required
for a normally sighted person to experience seeing red; and Mary could thereby come to
know (at least in the coarse-grained sense) when Marianna is experiencing what it is like
to see red, and so to know the truth of (X). Thus, after due inquiry into the physical states
of Marianna's brain, Mary should be able to confirm (X) or, perhaps, to respond to (X)
with a statement such as, “No, Marianna, that is not what it is like to see red, that is what
it is like to see blue”—in either case without herself having the slightest idea of what it is
like to see red or blue.
In response, it might be argued that Mary should not assume, based on physical facts
alone, that what Marianna is experiencing is what others normally experience when they
see red, even if Marianna is in the same physical state that others occupy when they see
red. In other words, in reasoning about Marianna's experiences (and what those
experiences are like), Mary may not assume that facts about experience supervene on the
physical facts. This argument proves too much, however: it would never allow Mary to
draw inferences about what Marianna's experiences are like, even after Mary is released
from captivity. Even after Mary sees red, her only reason for believing that Marianna has
experiences like her own are the physical reasons.
end p.44

Indeed, black-and-white Mary's own visual history should not constrain Mary's ability to
ascertain what experiences Marianna is having at the moment. Assume, for example, that
pre-release Mary observes Marianna experiencing the sight of red and that Mary confirms
physically that this is in fact what Marianna is doing. Assume further that Mary is
allowed to see red while she continues to observe Marianna experiencing the sight of red.
At this juncture, Mary might well exclaim, “Now I know what it is like to see red!” or
equivalently, “Now I know what you are experiencing!” She would not say, however,
“Now I know that you are experiencing what it is like to see red”—either Mary already
knew that, even before she herself knew what it is like to see red, or she did not know it
and could not come to know it by experiencing the sight of red.
Taking a different tack, an opponent of AH might insist that someone like black-and-
white Mary, who has not experienced the sight of red, simply is unprepared to understand
what makes (X) true even if she could somehow confirm its truth. 20 Though Mary might
know that Marianna tells the truth when Marianna says, “This is what it is like to see
red,” she does not and cannot understand what makes that assertion true. This failure of
understanding is so significant that it arguably represents a true ignorance of a state of
affairs—not merely a failure to comprehend a fact from a particular point of view or
under a certain description. 21
Though plausible at first blush, this last argument begs the question against AH. As we
shall see, AH is compatible with an informative account of the type of understanding that
black-and-white Mary does not have. (As elaborated in the next section, Mary's failure of
understanding can itself be identified with the absence of the Lewis abilities.) If the AH-
compatible account of such understanding is correct, then Mary's failure to understand
(X) represents no gap in her factual knowledge. So it would beg the question to assume
that Mary's failure of understanding represents such a gap.
To turn the tables, a proponent of KA might charge AH with begging the question against
KA by assuming that the Lewis abilities alone, without phenomenal information, provide
the cognitive background required for the understanding of (X). According to this charge,
knowledge of phenomenal information explains the acquisition of the Lewis abilities, and
therefore the Lewis abilities may not be invoked to explain away the understanding that
underlies such knowledge. 22 However, this defense reveals a weakness in the very
position that it tries to secure. Although KA starts out as an argument against
physicalism, in its current
end p.45

incarnation it is reduced to relying upon knowledge of phenomenal information to


“explain” the presence of the Lewis abilities. 23 If this “explanation” were known to be
correct at the outset, there would be no need for KA in order to establish the existence of
phenomenal information in the first place. Absent justification for such an “explanation,”
Lewis was right, I think, to label it a “gratuitous metaphysical gloss” (1988: 517).
In summary, we have found that black-and-white Mary could know the truth of (X) (in
the relevant coarse-grained sense) before she knew what it's like to see red. Thus,
knowledge of (X) (in that sense) could not constitute knowing what it's like to see red.
What about the “fine-grained” senses in which black-and-white Mary may not know the
truth of (X)? We can acknowledge that various perspectives on (X)—points of view from
which Mary can know (X) to be true—elude her until after she is released from black-
and-white captivity. For example, when released from captivity, Mary presumably comes
to know that she has experienced seeing red; that she can visualize red; that she can
remember the experience of seeing red; that she can recognize an experience of seeing
red; and, in general, that she possesses the Lewis abilities relevant to knowing what it's
like to see red. During her captivity, Mary could not know the truth of (X) from the point
of view of someone who knows any of this information. 24 This is a consequence of
AH—but not a problem for it—because the acquisition of such information is a natural
result of Mary's acquisition of the Lewis abilities.
None of this suggests that any fine-grained way of knowing that is what constitutes
knowing what an experience is like. To the contrary, the relevant fine-grained
propositional knowledge arises from, and does not give rise to, the Lewis abilities. As
noted above, the presence of the Lewis abilities creates the opportunity to acquire various
fine-grained ways of knowing propositions about experience. Fine-grained ways of
knowing such propositions in the absence of the Lewis abilities, however, do not lead to
knowing what an experience is like. For example, having the point of view of someone
who has seen red adds nothing useful to my knowledge that Marianna is currently seeing
red—unless I can in fact remember the experience of seeing red (e.g., I have not forgotten
how to remember). Similarly, having the point of view of someone who is currently
seeing red would add no insightful perspective in the absence of the Lewis abilities:
Unless I have visual imaginative and mnemonic abilities, my current experience of seeing
red does not allow me to know what it's like to see red (as I have argued with respect to
Conee's Betty and Tye's Mary). 25 The Lewis abilities, not the fine-grained ways of
knowing the truth about an experience, are what underlie knowing what an experience is
like.
end p.46

Understanding Statements about Experience

Undoubtedly, something about Marianna's exclamation, “So this is what it's like to see
red!” remains inaccessible to pre-release Mary even though she can test the accuracy of
this exclamation. We want to say that Mary does not really understand the “content” of
this exclamation, and she cannot do so precisely because she does not know what it's like
to see red.
Proponents of AH are not without tools to address Mary's failure of understanding; for
the same abilities that characterize knowledge of what it's like to see red also assist the
understanding. In other words, the reason that pre-release Mary cannot fully grasp the
meaning of third-person demonstrative attributions of color experiences (even though she
may know full well when these attributions are accurate) is that understanding
attributions of experience depends, to some extent, upon knowing how to imagine the
experience. 26
Robert Gordon's theory of mental simulation generalizes this account of understanding
attributions of experience. Gordon's idea, which has been subjected to abundant empirical
testing (with results both favorable and unfavorable), is that the ability to engage in
mental simulation is the key to understanding attributions of intentional states: “Only
those who can simulate can understand an ascription of, e.g., belief—that to S it is the
case that p.” 27 Gordon's simulation theory, like AH, is an alternative to the hypothesis
(the so-called theory theory) that propositional knowledge (knowledge “that”) underlies
human mental capacities. When the proposition p, in Gordon's formulation, is the
proposition expressed by “This is what it is like to see red!” (as uttered by post-release
Mary), Gordon's theory coincides with this special theory of understanding statements
about what it's like: Only someone who can imagine seeing red can understand Mary's
affirmation that “This is what it is like to see red.” This special theory need not, however,
draw upon Gordon's general theory for support. Gordon's theory is motivated by
perceived limitations on the ability of the theory theory to account for how we predict,
explain, and interpret the behavior of other people. By contrast, this special account of
understanding propositions about experience derives its support from particular
observations about how we use terms for experience. 28
A shared background assumption of language users is that (most) others can relate
firsthand to experience by imaginatively thinking about named experiences. The shared
assumption enables users of a language to tap into the (normally) shared network of
imaginative abilities. For example, when we describe a hue of red, we (ordinarily)
assume that others can remember, recognize, and imagine shades of color, and that we
will evoke an imaginative response when we say something like: “Her skirt is a deeper
shade of red than blood red.” Someone who has never visually experienced the color red
and therefore has not mastered the relevant imaginative abilities could not appreciate the
image that statement is intended to evoke, even if she has mastered the science of vision
physiology. Similarly, someone who has never experienced pain could not fully
understand reports of pain, even if she could confirm their truth based upon her mastery
of pain physiology, because she could not imagine having a painful experience. As
Wittgenstein observed, an inexperienced user of terms for experience would not be a full
player in the language game of experience. He is like a child who says, “I don't know if
what I have got is pain or something else” (1958: § 288). Witnessing this, we may think,
“He does not know what the English word ‘pain’ means; and we should explain it to
him … [p]erhaps by means of gestures, or pricking him with a pin and saying: ‘See, that's
what pain is!’ ” (§ 288). We teach the child the meaning of the term “pain” by teaching
him to associate that term with his own experiences of pain. 29

Know-How versus Ability

Noam Chomsky has drawn a distinction between know-how and ability, arguing that
knowing how to speak and understand a language cannot be reduced to a system of
abilities. His argument is based on a thought experiment. Imagine that Juan, a speaker of
Spanish, suffers aphasia after receiving a severe head wound, losing all ability to speak
and understand Spanish. Chomsky (1988) asserts that Juan has not lost his knowledge of
Spanish, since he might recover his ability to speak and understand “as the effects of the
injury recede.” “Plainly, something was retained while the ability to speak and to
understand was lost. What was retained was a system of knowledge, a cognitive system
of the mind/brain” (10).
Chomsky has also applied this type of thought experiment to bike riding. He supposes
that “Juan knows how to ride a bicycle, then suffers a brain injury that causes him to lose
this ability completely … then [he] recovers the ability as the effects of the injury recede.
Again something remains unaffected by the injury that causes a temporary loss of ability.
What remains intact was the cognitive system that constitutes knowing how to ride a
bicycle; this is not simply a matter of ability” (11).
Borrowing and expanding on Chomsky's argument, Torin Alter (2001) distinguishes
between knowing how to imagine having an experience and the ability to imagine the
same experience. Suppose that a brain injury robs Hank of the ability to imagine the
experience of tasting chocolate ice cream but that Hank's ability reappears as the injury
recedes. Alter suggests that what is retained when the ability is temporarily absent must
be knowledge of what it's like, which therefore cannot be reduced to abilities. “Hank's
knowledge … is implicit and temporarily inaccessible; nonetheless, the knowledge is
there” (234, emphasis added).
The Chomsky/Alter approach to analyzing know-how implicitly assumes away the
existence of deep-seated, structured abilities. What makes Chomsky and Alter so sure
that Juan has completely lost the “ability” to speak Spanish just because he
end p.48

can't currently do so? Why not speculate instead that speaking Spanish is a complex,
many-faceted, rule-bound ability, some aspects of which are relatively deeply embedded
in the brain of anyone who possesses the ability, and that Juan has lost some of this
ability? What he has lost may be described roughly (and provocatively) as the ability to
“exercise” his ability to speak Spanish; 30 or it may be described more generally as a
peripheral component—some necessary but not sufficient element—of the ability to
speak Spanish. One need not conclude, however, that Juan has entirely lost the ability to
speak Spanish. Instead, one might conjecture that he has lost some, but not all, of what
constitutes his Spanish-speaking ability, just as he has lost some, but not all, of his
Spanish-speaking know-how. (After his accident, he might still know how to speak
Spanish, but he certainly knows this less well than before.)
In the context of knowing what an experience is like, the Chomsky/Alter model of
knowledge retention seems strangely out of touch. What makes KA so intuitively
compelling is that it highlights the immediacy of our knowledge of color experience.
When black-and-white Mary is first exposed to color, what she learns about what it's like
to see red is vivid and obvious to her. If, shortly after she learns what it's like to see red,
she suffers a brain injury that robs her of the ability to imagine red, what is left is not
what we intuitively call “knowing what it's like to see red.” (We would find it odd, and
perhaps a bit pathetic, if she were to continue to insist that she knows what red is like
even though she has no better ability to imagine, recognize, or remember the sight of red
than she had before being released from her black-and-white surroundings.)
Taking this point a step further, assume that black-and-white Mary is never exposed to
color, but that a surgeon performs an operation that leaves her in the same brain-damaged
condition that she would have been in after learning what it's like to see red and then
temporarily losing the ability to imagine seeing red as a result of an accident. In other
words, the surgery has the effect of endowing Mary with latent knowledge of what it's
like to see red, which will become apparent to her as her brain recovers from the surgery.
For some period of time after her surgery, she notices nothing strange or new; she has no
immediate epiphany regarding what it's like to see red. Perhaps she does not even know
that her brain has been altered. However, later in the recovery period, at time t, she finds
that she can visualize red even though she's never had a red-seeing experience. 31 We
would, I think, all agree that, at time t, Mary finally learns what it's like to see red.
However, Alter's position implies that after the surgery but prior to t—when her brain has
been altered in some significant way, but the alteration has not yet afforded her the
faintest idea of what it's like to see red—black-and-white Mary has made the transition to
a person who knows what it's like to see red. However “implicit and temporarily
inaccessible” the knowledge may be, “the knowledge is there” (Alter 2001: 234).
end p.49

Under Alter's analysis, knowing what it's like to see red has been transformed from one
thing into something quite different. This type of knowing is known for its immediacy, 32
but Alter characterizes it as potentially quite remote. Knowing what it's like to see red has
become almost a theoretical entity—one that (at least in the unusual situations he
constructs) we could know exists only because of its effects on observables (not because
it is itself knowledge of an observable). Indeed, to highlight the potential inaccessibility
of this knowledge, Alter labels it “X.” Alter tells us nothing about X other than (1) X is
retained after an injury that robs Mary of her red-visualizing abilities; (2) X would seem
to have “the typical properties of knowledge”; and (3) the presence of X explains why
Mary recovers the ability to imagine red experiences. So even though X represents the
core component of knowing what it's like, Mary may fail to know that she possesses it.
The nature of X is a mystery, but a different kind of mystery from what we have come to
expect in discussing “what it's like to see red”; for X does not make itself manifest. This
is a weird development—one that a proponent of phenomenal information should not
welcome.

Conclusion

The character of the knowledge acquired by experience is deeply perplexing, yet most of
us have powerful intuitions about what that knowledge is like. To cope with this tension,
it may be helpful to recall these remarks from the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus,
although Wittgenstein undoubtedly wrote them with more spiritual matters in mind:
“There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest.
They are what is mystical” (1921: prop. 6.522; emphasis in original). While KA
capitalizes on the mysticism inspired by “So this is what it's like”—and embraces the
existence of propositional knowledge that “cannot be put into words”—AH provides a
more worldly account that explains both the cognitive role of knowing what it's like and
its essential connection with firsthand experience. Naturally enough, this approach
engenders almost religious objection. But the test of a philosophical theory is not the
fervor of the criticism it engenders, but the strength of the available rejoinders; and AH
proves to be reasonably resilient to assault.

Acknowledgments

This chapter is dedicated to my father-in-law, Mortimer R. Kadish. I am indebted to


comments provided by my wife, Joey Kadish, the editors, and the referee.

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end p.50

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end p.51

three The Knowledge Argument, Diaphanousness, Representationalism


Frank Jackson

One good way of making a case against the knowledge argument is by noting that it
conflicts with physicalism and rehearsing the very strong case for physicalism. 1 But this
leaves unaddressed the undeniable force of the intuitions that drive the knowledge
argument. I now think that the best strategy—the one that best enables us to see where
the supporters of the knowledge argument, including my former self, went wrong—starts
by isolating the key intuition that drives the knowledge argument and then showing how
it conflicts with an attractive approach to phenomenal experience that can be
independently motivated.

The Key Intuition behind the Knowledge Argument

I think the key intuition that drives the knowledge argument is that on leaving the black-
and-white room, Mary acquires information about a new way that states are alike, one to
another. When she leaves the room, she has certain highly distinctive experiences, and in
consequence she acquires, it seems, an enlarged conception of the similarity patterns that
obtain in our world. While in the black-and-white room, Mary knew that people are in
various kinds of brain states that resemble each other in mass, chemical nature,
temperature, functional roles, and so on. But, it seems, once she experiences red as red,
once she knows what it is like to have that experience, she knows that there is something
in common between states of subjects that outruns her previous knowledge; she learns a
new way that certain items in our world—more particularly, certain experiences—
resemble each other.
Many reply to the knowledge argument that what happens to Mary when she leaves the
room is that she acquires new concepts, which is no reason to admit new properties; the
knowledge argument fallaciously slides from the acquisition of new concepts to knowing
about new properties. 2 I think the reason defenders of the knowledge argument find this
reply unpersuasive is that the sense in which Mary would seem to acquire a new concept
is that she learns of a new way of grouping experiences together. Someone who acquires
the concept of, say, charge and learns that it applies to certain items learns of a new way
that the items resemble each other, and that is to learn of a new property, the relevant
unifier, that is instantiated in our world. In the same way, Mary's new concept seems to
correspond to a new way for experiences to be alike, one that nowhere appears in the
physicalists' picture; and if this is right, there are properties that fail to appear in that
picture, namely, those corresponding to her newly enlarged understanding of the respects
of similarity that obtain between certain states of sentient creatures. My sense is that the
example of water and H 2 O has misled here. Water and H 2 O are different concepts, and
yet water is H 2 O. This looks like good news for advocates of the view that “the
knowledge argument confuses concepts and properties.” But Lavoisier did enlarge our
understanding of what our world is like. The rise of modern chemistry told us new things
about what kinds of properties are instantiated. This sets philosophers an interesting
question. How should we give an account of the extra knowledge about the ways things
are that came along with the discovery that water is H 2 O while acknowledging the
undoubted fact that water is H 2 O? But surely it would be wrong-headed to conclude that
the rise of modern chemistry did not tell us new things about what our world is like.
If I am right about the source of the intuitive force of the knowledge argument, the key
contention that critics of the argument need to attack is the intuitively appealing one that
Mary learns a new way in which certain items, in particular certain experiences, are alike.
I think the best way to attack this contention—the “new similarity” contention, as I will
sometimes call it—is via representationalism about sensory experience. More
particularly, representationalism comes in different varieties, and it is the strong variety
that undermines the key contention. In what follows, I first offer an argument for strong
representationalism that takes off from the way diaphanousness shows a weaker version
of representationalism to be untenable. This is the core of the chapter. I then spell out
how strong representationalism undermines the knowledge argument—I think there has
been a tendency to take this to be more obvious than it is—via the way it undermines the
new similarity contention. I conclude by saying how I resist Torin Alter's argument in
“Does Representationalism Undermine the Knowledge Argument?” (this volume, chap.
4) to the conclusion that representationalism does not undermine the knowledge
argument. (I argue that he is right about one version of representationalism not
undermining the knowledge argument but not about the strong version.)
end p.53

Representationalism: First Pass

We use predicates such as “square,” “red,” “in front of me,” and “stationary” to describe
things in our world. We also use them to describe perceptual experience. We describe a
table as square, in front of us, and brown. We describe our perceptual experience as being
as of something brown, square, stationary, and in front of us. When psychologists in
experiments ask us to describe how things seem, abstracting away from how we believe
them to be, we use the same adjectives we use when saying how we believe things to be.
It is obviously no accident that we give these words double duty. The question, What
makes it right to use the word “square,” say, both to capture the nature of an object and to
capture the nature of an experience? cries out for an answer. Representationalism
explains this nonaccident by a certain kind of univocality thesis. To illustrate with the
word “square”: it applies to something if and only if it has the property of being square; it
applies to a visual experience if and only if the experience represents something as
having the same property of being square. No special sense of “square” enters the story—
to be designated “square*,” as it might be when philosophical perspicuity is important—
in order to account for why “square” applies to visual experience.
I am a convert to representationalism about perceptual experience (we won't be
concerned with experience more generally, and “experience” unqualified in what follows
should be read as the perceptual variety). 3 And, as is the way with converts, I am eager
to recruit. My efforts at recruitment in this chapter are, though, to some extent conditional
and limited. They are limited to how the famous diaphanousness or transparency of
experience can best be deployed to make an argument for representationalism, and they
are conditional in that I largely assume diaphanousness.
Many have found diaphanousness very plausible (which is why I do not feel too bad
about largely assuming it). Many have thought of it as the basis for a powerful argument
for representationalism. I think, however, that the path from diaphanousness to
representationalism has not been spelled out in the right way. Indeed, the usual view
seems to be that diaphanousness, if accepted, is an argument in itself for
representationalism. I start by explaining why I think that diaphanousness is in itself no
argument for representationalism. As I argue in later sections, diaphanousness is, rather,
an important intermediate premise (used twice over, as it happens) in the line of argument
that takes us from what I will call weak representationalism to strong representationalism
or representationalism proper—the kind of representationalism that, as I will later argue,
shows us where the knowledge argument goes wrong by undermining the new similarity
contention.
end p.54

Why Diaphanousness in Itself Fails as an Argument for Representationalism


That experience is diaphanous (or transparent) is a thesis about the phenomenology of
perceptual experience. 4 It is the thesis that the properties that make an experience the
kind of experience it is are the properties of the object of experience. It is sometimes
expressed by borrowing from Hume's famous remark about the self. Hume found himself
unable to experience the self as such, always finding the experiences of the self getting in
the way, so to speak. 5 Likewise, it is plausible that we do not experience experience as
such. The properties of the object putatively experienced always get in the way of
attempts to access the phenomenology of experience itself. The claim is not, of course,
that we cannot be aware that we are having such-and-such an experience or that there is
no difference between the mental state of having such-and-such an experience and that of
reflecting on that fact, and the like. The claim is that accessing the nature of the
experience itself is nothing other than accessing the properties of its object.
Diaphanousness is very plausible, but our focus is on its implications for
representationalism, and the trouble with using it as a launching pad for
representationalism is that diaphanousness is not a claim about the nature of the object of
experience per se. It is rather a way of affirming the famous act-object analysis that led
so many to sense data. According to the act-object analysis, to have an experience is to
stand in the relation of awareness to an object whose properties determine the kind of
experience undergone. The contrast is with the adverbial analysis of sensory experience
according to which to have an experience is to sense in a certain mode, where the mode
determines the kind of experience undergone. 6 But this means that diaphanousness says
nothing in itself that favors representationalism. One gets a consideration pointing toward
representationalism only inasmuch as one has a reason to hold that the object of
experience is an intentional object. If the object is an object in space-time,
representationalism is false. In order for representationalism to be true, the object must be
an intentional one—in particular, a way things are being represented to be. As we will
see, there are good reasons to hold that the object is an intentional one, but this is no part
of diaphanousness. It is an additional matter calling for separate argument.
One way to see the point is to reflect on the fact that G. E. Moore (1903), perhaps the best
known advocate of diaphanousness, used the argument as an argument for
end p.55

sense data, and sense data are not intentional objects. But the point is almost as obvious if
you consider Gilbert Harman's presentation. He says:
When Eloise sees a tree before her, the colors she experiences are all experienced as
features of the tree and its surroundings. None of them are experienced as intrinsic
features of her experience. Nor does she experience any features of anything as intrinsic
features of her experiences. And that is true of you too. … Look at a tree and try to turn
your attention to intrinsic features of your visual experience. I predict that you will find
that the only features there to turn your attention to will be features of the tree. (1990:
667)
What, exactly, is the object that is claimed to have the “features” in this passage? If it is
the tree, we do not have a generally acceptable account of what makes an experience the
kind of experience it is. We know that the very same experience can be had in the
absence of any physical object including trees. 7 That is to say, the claim that “the only
features there to turn your attention to will be features of the tree” is not in general
correct. What is plausible in general is that whenever we try to “catch” the properties of
our experience qua kind of experience that it is, all we seem to find are properties of an
object whose nature determines the nature of the experience. But the nature of this object
is a separate matter. Moreover, if one went by phenomenology—which is the basis for
the claim that experience is diaphanous—the most plausible view straight off is that the
object is an object in space-time and not an intentional object. We have learned to reject
sense data, but there is a reason why they captivated so many for so long.
Or consider Michael Tye's recent discussion of diaphanousness—or transparency, as he
calls it. Tye's view is that diaphanousness is “a very powerful motivation for the
representationalist view … but that the appeal to transparency has not been well
understood” (2000: 45). He gives a detailed account in ten steps of how, in his view, we
should spell out the path that takes us from diaphanousness to representationalism. Step 6
is the one of interest to us. After giving an account of what diaphanousness is and why it
is plausible (a convincing account, as it seems to me), he says:

Step 6

What, then, is visual phenomenal character? One possible hypothesis is that it is a quality
of the surface experienced. That hypothesis is intelligible only if it is assumed that the
surface is an immaterial one of the sort the sense-datum theorists posited. The best
hypothesis, I suggest, is that visual phenomenal character is representational content of a
certain sort—content into which certain external qualities enter. This explains why visual
phenomenal character is not a quality of an experience to which we have direct access.
(48)

Instead of giving us answers as to how diaphanousness leads us to representationalism, it


seems to me that this passage highlights the kinds of concerns we've
end p.56

raised. First, although it is widely and correctly assumed that the sense-datum theory is a
mistake, to use its falsity as an unargued premise in an account of how diaphanousness
leads to representationalism means that a key part of the account of why we should be
representationalists does not rest on diaphanousness; it rests on the case against sense-
data treated as a separate issue. Second, a lot of work is being done by the words “I
suggest” in the quoted passage. It isn't clear here, or elsewhere in the ten-step argument
as far as I can see, why diaphanousness per se warrants the suggestion “that visual
phenomenal character is representational content of a certain sort”; but, in that case,
diaphanousness is not doing the crucial work in the argument. Finally, the claim that
“visual phenomenal character is not a quality of an experience to which we have direct
access” seems false on reasonable understandings of the admittedly tricky notion of direct
access, and, moreover, the claim is not something that follows from diaphanousness.
Diaphanousness says that the properties of experience are the properties of the object of
experience, not that we lack direct access to the properties.
I conclude that the famous diaphanousness or transparency of experience is not per se the
basis of an argument for representationalism, even by the low standards converts are
wont to set. It is not where we should start in developing the case for representationalism.
We must look elsewhere for our starting point and, as I signaled earlier, bring
diaphanousness into the argument along the way. The right place to start, in my view, is
with the distinction between weaker and stronger versions of representationalism.
Weak, Minimal, and Strong Representationalism
Minimal representationalism holds that experience is essentially representational. Strong
representationalism holds in addition that experience is exhaustively representational.
According to minimal representationalism, it is impossible to have a perceptual
experience without thereby being in a state that represents that things are thus and so in
the world, where “in the world” does not necessarily mean outside of the subject. Some
experiences represent how one's stomach is, for example; but although this concerns how
things inside one are, it concerns how the world is in the sense of concerning how things
are with something distinct from the experience itself. Strong representationalism goes
further in maintaining that how an experience represents things as being exhausts its
experiential nature. It is not as if an experience's nature is partly constituted by how it
represents things to be and partly by something else. How it represents things to be does
the complete job. If experience consisted of a representational bit and a
nonrepresentational extra, we could, strong representationalists argue, vary the “extra”
while leaving the representational content unchanged. This would mean that we could
vary an experience's nature without varying how it represents things to be. And this,
according to strong representationalism, is what cannot happen. Change an experience
qua kind of experience it is, and you ipso facto change how it represents things to be. 8
There is no extra element that might be tweaked in a way that leaves unaltered how
things are being represented to be.
Minimal representationalism is consistent with and implied by strong
representationalism. If how things are being represented is the sole determinant of
experiential nature, experiences must by their very nature represent. It is useful to have a
name for the kind of representationalism that affirms that experience is essentially
representational while denying the exhaustion claim. I will call this view “weak
representationalism.” Thus, minimal representationalism comes in two forms: the strong
version, which affirms exhaustion, and the weak, which denies exhaustion.
Two clarifications concerning strong representationalism. First, it is not the view that the
content of an intentional state determines its nature qua mental state without remainder.
That doctrine is false. A belief and a desire may have the very same content: I may both
believe and desire that it will rain soon. Strong representationalism, as we will understand
it, is the doctrine that the content of an experience plus the fact that the experience
represents the content as obtaining in the way distinctive of perceptual representation are
what determines the experience's nature without remainder. 9 However, the difference
between seeing red and seeing green is exhausted by content.
Second, it is important that it is the content, not part of the content, that appears in this
formulation. A visual experience and a tactile one may equally represent that something
is round, but they are very different experiences. Their difference lies, according to strong
representationalism, in the fact that they have different contents; what they represent
about how things are differs while agreeing in regard to the matter of shape. For example,
the visual experience will represent how things are in regard to color while being silent
about warmth and texture; the converse will be true of the tactile experience.
I take it that strong representationalism is the doctrine with bite: enough philosophers
take it for granted that experience is essentially representational, that a perceptual
experience by its very nature points to things being a certain way, for minimal
representationalism to count as orthodoxy. Of course, how to analyze the relevant notion
of representation is controversial. What I am saying is orthodoxy is the core idea that a
perceptual experience by its very nature invites its subject to believe that things are a
certain way. 10 We may decline the invitation. We may indeed have no inclination to
accept it. 11 All the same, if asked, Is there a way
end p.58

things are that one is being directed to as something the experience makes belief-worthy,
absent defeaters?, it is very plausible that, necessarily for every experience, the answer is
that there is such a way. After all, as we remarked at the beginning, the words we use to
describe experience qua experience are the very words we use to describe the world and
the things in it, and we take an experience we describe using those words to be in itself,
albeit defeasibly, a reason for believing that how things are is that there are things in the
world having the properties we use those words for.
I know there are dissenters to the kind of minimal representationalism I've called
(tendentiously) orthodoxy, but I cannot think of an argument to persuade them to change
their minds. Such an argument would need to have premises more plausible than that
perceptual experiences are, by their very nature, representational, and that is a big ask in
my book.
I now turn to the argument that takes us from minimal to strong representationalism or
representationalism proper. I appreciate that the minority who dissent from minimal
representationalism may take some comfort in the argument to come, seeing it as
showing, as they see matters, that minimal representationalism is a wolf in sheep's
clothing.
How Diaphanousness Takes Us from Minimal to Strong Representationalism
How might an experience essentially represent that things are thus and so? Any answer
must advert to the nature of the experience. Something about the properties the
experience has, in the sense of the kind of experience it is, makes it the case that it
represents that things are thus and so. Let E be the relevant property of some experience
in virtue of which it represents that the way things are has property P. We will review
various possibilities for how E relates to P.
By diaphanousness, E is a property of the object of the experience. Is this object an object
in space-time, presumably some kind of constituent of the experience, or is it an
intentional object, presumably the very way that things might be, which is represented as
being P? Suppose the first. Then we have two sorts of problem. One sort is raised by the
fact that in many cases E will have to be a property distinct from P. Sometimes our
experience represents that something is square, and it is not plausible that the experience
is, or has a part that is, square (except maybe by chance). The point is even more obvious
for experiences that represent that something is a certain distance away. No part of the
experience is some distance away from the subject. 12 Nor is it necessarily the case that
the experience has a property that entails being square or some distance away. The
properties E and P will typically be strongly distinct. But then how can it be that these
distinct properties are necessarily connected, as must be the case if the experience's being
end p.59

E essentially represents that the way things are is P? How can the instantiation of E
essentially point to the instantiation of P?
The second problem is independent of whether or not E and P are distinct properties.
Suppose indeed that they are the very same property: E = P. How is it that an object in
space–time's being P essentially represents that P is a property of how things are? We can
understand how an object's being P might essentially represent that it itself is P, but the
suggestion now under discussion is that an object's being P essentially represents that
something else is P. As we noted earlier, minimal representationalism holds that
experience essentially represents that the world is thus-and-so, where the reference to the
world signifies that the representational content is directed to something other than the
experience itself, and one thing's being thus-and-so does not in and of itself represent that
something else is thus-and-so.
It can be tempting to think in terms of projection when we address the issue of how
experience speaks to the nature of the world. The idea would be that when we have an
experience which is E, for suitable E, we project some property connected to E, the one
we are calling P, which may or may not be E itself, onto the world. The experience
represents that the world is P by virtue of the combination of being E and the act of
projection. This, however, would not help with the problems just raised. First, is the act
of projection part of what makes the experience the experience it is? If it is, we have a
violation of diaphanousness. According to diaphanousness, it is the properties of the
object of experience that settle the nature of experience, and projection is not a property
of the object but instead is something done to certain properties of it. If, alternatively, the
act of projection is not part of what makes the experience the experience it is, we have a
violation of minimal representationalism. According to minimal representationalism, the
experience's representing as it does is an essential part of its being the experience it is. It
is not an extra consequent upon an act of projection conceived as distinct from what
makes the experience the experience it is. Second, how can projecting properties from
one thing to another be a matter of necessity, even if we have such qualifiers as that the
projection be prima facie or pro tanto or …? But in that case, a projection account is
incompatible with the minimal representationalist's thesis that experiences, of necessity,
point toward the world being thus and so.
The difficulties we have just surveyed arise from the assumption that E, the property that
makes the experience the kind of experience it is, is a property of an object in space-time.
In effect, we have used minimal representationalism plus diaphanousness in a reductio of
any view that denies that the objects whose properties determine an experience's nature
are intentional objects. Contraposing, we have shown that minimal representationalism
plus diaphanousness implies that the properties of the experience are properties of an
intentional object; they are properties of how things are being represented to be. The final
step is to derive strong representationalism by a second appeal to diaphanousness.
Diaphanousness says that the properties of the object of experience determine without
remainder the nature of the experience. It follows that if the object of experience is an
intentional object, the experience's properties are one and all the
end p.60

properties of how things are being represented to be. Here I mean the experience's
properties qua kind of experience it is. As a good physicalist, I of course hold that the
experience has all sorts of physical and functional properties that are not properties of an
intentional object. Now talk of intentional objects should really have quotation marks
around the word “object”: the properties of an intentional “object” are nothing other than
the properties of how things are being represented to be; they are, that is, properties of
how things must be if things are to be as they are being represented to be.
We have, thus, reached strong representationalism, representationalism proper, the kind
of representationalism that has the extra bite that weak representationalism lacks, by
using diaphanousness twice over in an argument that presupposes minimal
representationalism. The first use took us from minimal representationalism to the result
that the objects that bear the properties are intentional objects. The second use delivered
the exhaustion thesis distinctive of strong representationalism. We have reached the
conclusion that the nature of a perceptual experience is exhausted by how it represents
things to be from minimal representationalism plus diaphanousness.
I said earlier that diaphanousness is the wrong place from which to launch the case for
strong representationalism. But of course my twofold use of diaphanousness to get from
minimal representationalism to strong representationalism conforms with the thought that
diaphanousness is crucial to seeing why we should be strong representationalists. I am
dissenting from the letter of what many (strong) representationalists say while agreeing
with a good part of the spirit.

How Strong Representationalism Undermines the Knowledge Argument's “New


Similarity” Contention

Seeing red is a kind of experience, a highly distinctive kind. Attacks on qualia freakery
and on the use of the phrase “what it is like” should not blind us to this evident fact. The
intuition that fuels the knowledge argument—the new similarity contention, as we are
calling it—is that Mary, in having that distinctive kind of experience, learns about a new
kind of similarity holding between experiences. But what does that similarity consist in?
If strong representationalism is true, there are two possible answers, for there are only
two commonalities that might be relevant that obtain between different tokens of seeing
red, to stick with that example, given strong representationalism. One is in how things are
being represented to be; the other is in the fact that things are being so represented. The
first commonality is in how things have to be for the experience to represent correctly;
the second commonality is in the fact that each experience represents alike in the regard
in question. I will argue that neither commonality makes trouble for physicalism. I will
consider them in turn.
The challenge from the knowledge argument is the intuition that the “red” of seeing red is
a new sort of property that unites the seeings of red. But commonalities in how things are
being represented to be are not instances of properties. What unites how things have to be
for the representations to be correct is not what
end p.61

unites the items that share the content. The “red” of seeing red cannot simultaneously be
a property instance that Mary comes to know and what is shared by how things are being
represented to be.
Here is a way to make the point via an argument that almost no one nowadays takes
seriously. Suppose someone argued in the manner of the traditional argument from
illusion against physicalism as follows.

1.When a straight stick immersed in water looks bent to degree d at some given time to
me, its looking bent to degree d is to be understood in terms of its being bent to that
degree.
2.Nothing physical is bent to degree d at that time, in front of me or in my head (we may
suppose).
3.Therefore, there is at least one instance of something's being bent to a certain degree
that physicalism fails to account for. Thus physicalism's inventory of which properties
1.When a straight stick immersed in water looks bent to degree d at some given time to
me, its looking bent to degree d is to be understood in terms of its being bent to that
degree.
are instantiated is incomplete.

Representationalism says that this argument goes wrong because the sense in which the
first premise is true is one in which looking bent to degree d is understood in terms of
there needing to be something bent to that degree for the visual experience to represent
correctly, and not in the sense in which looking bent to degree d requires that being bent
to that degree is anywhere instantiated. Mutatis mutandis for representationalism and the
knowledge argument on the reading in which the commonality is in how things are being
represented to be.
What about the alternative way of reading the similarity: as the similarity of being a state
with a certain representational content? The contents are the same, but the “red” of seeing
red lies, on this alternative, not in the similarity in content per se, but in seeing red's
having that same content on the various occasions when subjects are in it. On this
alternative, the “red” of seeing red will be an instantiated property. Although a
representational state that says that things are thus-and-so need not be accompanied by
any instance of things' being thus-and-so, it is itself an instance of representing that
things are thus-and-so. But if strong representationalism is correct, this similarity is not a
similarity in experience qua kind of experience it is. That is the message of the
exhaustion doctrine distinctive of strong representationalism. 13 The nature of experience
qua experience is exhausted by how things are being represented to be, not by the fact
that they are being so represented. But the similarity intuition that drives the knowledge
argument is a view about a similarity in the nature of experience qua experience. The new
similarity contention is that Mary comes to have a new kind of experience that
instantiates a new property.
In sum, if strong representationalism is correct, advocates of the knowledge argument
face a dilemma. If the similarity between red experiences that they see physicalists as
failing to include in their picture of reality lies in the content, it implies nothing about
which properties are instantiated in our world; if the similarity lies in the states with the
content, it is inconsistent with the knowledge argument's claim that something about the
kind of experience Mary has on leaving the room shows that physicalism is false.
I should highlight the fact that my argument from representationalism to the failure of the
knowledge argument rests on strong representationalism. My response to Torin Alter's
argument in his chapter in this volume to the conclusion that representationalism is no
threat to the knowledge argument is that he successfully shows that weak
representationalism is no threat to the knowledge argument. There can be different ways
of representing the very same state of affairs—witness French and English sentences both
representing that there is a cat before me, and the fact that formulae in polar and
Cartesian coordinates can both represent a circle. Alter is right that we should distinguish
the manner in which something is represented from what is represented. However, the
key question for whether representationalism undermines the knowledge argument is not
whether there is a content-manner distinction (there certainly is), but whether the new
kind of experience Mary has when she first sees red is a reason for her to enlarge the
range of properties she holds to be instantiated in our world. If, as strong
representationalism holds, the nature of the new kind of experience is exhausted by its
representing as it does, it cannot provide a reason for enlarging the properties she
acknowledges by the argument above: properties of how things are being represented to
be are not instantiated properties; talk of properties of intentional objects is a mere
manner of speech. On the other hand, if, as weak representationalism holds, the
exhaustion doctrine is false, and, say, the manner in which she represents is an additional
factor in making her experience the kind of experience it is, then the manner in which she
represents as she does might well be a candidate to be the new similarity, the new way of
categorizing items, that advocates of the knowledge argument say she learns about on
leaving the room and that is left out of the physicalist scheme. And Alter will be right that
espousing representationalism about experience does not buy an answer to the knowledge
argument. But what he will be right about is the failure of weak representationalism to
blunt the knowledge argument.

References

Armstrong, D. (1961). Perception and the Physical World. London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul.
Armstrong, D. (1962). Bodily Sensations. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Block, N. (2003). Mental Paint. In Reflections and Replies: The Philosophy of Tyler
Burge, ed. M. Hahn and B. Ramberg: 165–200. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Foster, J. (2000). The Nature of Perception. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Harman, G. (1990). The Intrinsic Quality of Experience. In Philosophical Perspectives 4:


31–52. Reprinted in The Nature of Consciousness, ed. N. Block, O. Flanagan, and G.
Güzeldere: 663–75. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1998.
Hinton, J. M. (1973). Experiences. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
end p.63

Hume, D. (1739). Treatise of Human Nature.


Jackson, F. (1977). Perception. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Jackson, F. (2004). Representation and Experience. In Representation in Mind: New
Approaches to Mental Representation, ed. H. Clapin, P. Slezack, and P. Staines: 107–24.
Amsterdam: Elsevier.
Loar, B. (1990/97). Phenomenal States. Philosophical Perspectives 4: Action Theory and
Philosophy of Mind, ed. J. Tomberlin: 81–108. Atascadero, Calif.: Ridgeview. Revised
version in The Nature of Consciousness, ed. by N. Block, O. Flanagan, and G. Güzeldere:
597–616. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1997.
Lycan, W. (1996). Consciousness and Experience. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Moore, G. E. (1903). The Refutation of Idealism. Mind 12: 433–53.
Tye, M. (2000). Consciousness, Color, and Content. Cambridge: MIT Press.
end p.64
four Does Representationalism Undermine the Knowledge Argument?
Torin Alter

The knowledge argument aims to refute physicalism, the view that the world is entirely
physical. The argument first establishes the existence of facts (or truths or information)
about consciousness that are not a priori deducible from the complete physical truth, and
then infers the falsity of physicalism from this lack of deducibility. Frank Jackson (1982,
1986) gave the argument its classic formulation. But now he rejects the argument
(Jackson 1998b, 2003, chapter 3 of this volume). On his view, it relies on a false
conception of sensory experience, which should be replaced with representationalism
(also known as intentionalism), the view that phenomenal states are just representational
states. And he argues that mental representation is physically explicable.
I will argue that Jackson's representationalist response to the knowledge argument fails.
Physicalists face a representationalist version of the knowledge argument that inherits the
force of the original. Reformulating the challenge in representationalist terms does little,
if anything, to help physicalists answer it. 1

Jackson's Arguments

The Knowledge Argument

You know the story. Mary is raised in a black-and-white room and has no color
experiences. She learns everything in the completed science of color vision by watching
lectures on black-and-white television. These lectures include “everything in completed
physics, chemistry, and neurophysiology, and all there is to know about the causal and
relational facts consequent upon all this, including of course
end p.65

functional roles” (Jackson 1986: 291). Then she leaves the room or is given a color
television: she sees colors for the first time.
Jackson's version of the knowledge argument runs roughly as follows. Mary knows all
the physical facts before she leaves the room. Intuitively, when she leaves she learns new
facts about the phenomenal character of color experiences. For example, she learns what
it's like to see red. These facts must be nonphysical; otherwise, she would have known
them before leaving the room. Therefore, the complete physical truth cannot be (or
metaphysically necessitate) the complete truth about the world: physicalism is false. 2

The Argument from Representationalism


Jackson maintains that if physicalism is true, then all facts about consciousness are a
priori deducible from the physical facts. 3 He also maintains that the latter deducibility
claim faces a serious challenge from the intuition that Mary learns new facts when she
leaves the room. But now he accepts the deducibility claim and so rejects the intuition
that she learns new facts. He argues that the intuition about Mary depends on a
misconception about the nature of sensory experience. On his view, the correct
conception is representationalism, on which

(J1) All facts about the phenomenal character of color experiences concern the
representational character of these experiences. 4
He also proposes a physicalist account of the representational character of color
experiences. This leads him to the second main step of his argument:
(J2) Mary can deduce all the facts about the representational character of color
experiences from the physical facts without leaving the black-and-white room.

Together, J1 and J2 entail that Mary can deduce all the facts about the phenomenal
character of color experiences from the physical facts. If she can, then the knowledge
argument is unsound. Call this the argument from representationalism.

The Argument for J1

Jackson bases his representationalist view largely on the idea that color experiences are
diaphanous (or, as it is sometimes put, transparent). 5 This idea is often
end p.66

expressed as a thesis about introspective attention: the thesis that it is impossible to attend
to the phenomenal character of one's experiences except by attending to what one's
experiences represent (Kind 2003, Tye 2000).
Jackson expresses the idea somewhat differently. He writes,
I start with the diaphanousness of experience: G. E. Moore's thesis that the qualitative
character of experience is the character of the putative object of experience. The redness
of sensings of red is the putative redness of what is seen; when vision is blurred, what is
seen appears to be blurred; the location quality of a sound is the putative location of the
sound; the experience of movement is the experience of something putatively moving;
and so on. (2003: 257) 6
The two formulations are not plainly equivalent, if only because Jackson's does not
mention attention. But here this does not matter much. What I will say about
diaphanousness applies to both formulations.
Jackson takes diaphanousness for granted, remarking, “The case for it is widely accepted
and it is especially appealing in the case of our topic, colour experience” (2003: 258). He
suggests that diaphanousness leaves us with two options. One is the sense data theory, on
which “experiences are composed of an act of awareness directed to an object or sense
datum which bears the qualities” (258). Advocates of the knowledge argument often say
that when Mary leaves the room and sees a red tomato, she learns about phenomenal
redness, a property that determines the phenomenal character of seeing red. The sense
data theorist adds that phenomenal redness is an instantiated property of a mental object,
a sense datum, to which her experience is directed. On this view, it is plausible that there
are facts that one cannot know without being directly acquainted with phenomenal
redness: facts such as experience E is phenomenally red.
The other option, which Jackson prefers, is representationalism (or intentionalism). On
this view, seeing red is a representational state. The inscription “red” need not be red in
order to refer to that color. Likewise, an experience need not be red, phenomenally or
otherwise, in order to represent the world as having something red in it. According to
Jackson,
Intensionalism tells us that there is no such property [as instantiated phenomenal
redness]. To suppose otherwise is to mistake an intensional property for an instantiated
one. (Jackson 2003: 262)
On his view, since seeing red does not have any such property as phenomenal redness,
there are no such facts as experience E is phenomenally red.
There are facts in the vicinity, but on Jackson's view all of them concern the experience's
representational features. Some concern representational content. For example, seeing red
represents something as being red. But there is more to mental representation than
content. Two distinct states might represent the same content in different ways. Seeing
red represents redness in a distinctive, phenomenal way, which may be absent in other
cases of representing redness. As Jackson puts it, seeing red has a distinctive “feel.” Or as
I shall say, seeing red phenomenally represents redness. Representational character
includes both content and how (phenomenally or otherwise) the content is represented.
On Jackson's view, representational character completely determines the nature of color
experiences: on his view, there are no nonrepresentational features that play a role in
determining their phenomenal character. From this, J1 follows: All facts about the
phenomenal character of color experiences concern their representational character.

The Argument for J2

According to J2, Mary, while in the room, can deduce all the facts about the
representational character of color experiences from the physical facts. In support of J2,
Jackson notes that we already have well-developed theories that explain mental
representation in physical terms: “accounts that talk of co-variation, causal connections of
various kinds, selectional histories, and the like” (Jackson 2003: 263). But as he
recognizes, this consideration goes only so far. Such theories may explain mental
representation in general. That is, they may explain how it is that a mental state (e.g., a
belief or a visual experience) might represent that the world is such-and-such—how a
state might have a certain representational content. But again, in the case of color
experiences, representational character includes not only content but also phenomenal
representation (feel). Therefore, to complete his case for J2, Jackson must defend the
view that all facts concerning phenomenal representation are a priori deducible from the
physical facts.
In his 2003 essay, Jackson addresses this problem by identifying “five distinctive features
of cases where our sensory experience represents that things are thus and so” (269):
First, such representation is rich. Visual experience represents how things are here and
now in terms of colour, shape, location, extension, orientation, and motion… .
Secondly, it is inextricably rich. … [Y]ou cannot prise the colour bit from the shape bit
of a visual experience… .
Thirdly, the representation is immediate. Reading from a piece of paper that there is
something of such and such a color, location, etc. typically induces a belief that
represents that there is, but it does so via representing that there is a piece of paper with
certain marks on it… .
Fourthly, there is a causal element in the content. Perception represents the world as
interacting with us. … Vision represents things as being located where we see them as
being, as being at the location from which they are affecting us via our sense of sight.
Finally, sensory experience plays a distinctive functional role. … [I]t will determine a
function that maps states of belief onto states of belief. A subject's posterior state of
belief supervenes on their prior state of belief conjoined with their sensory experience.
(269–70)
Jackson contends that these five features explain the distinctive way sensory experience
represents—that is, they explain phenomenal representation. As he puts it,
If a representational state's content has inextricably and immediately the requisite
richness, and if the state plays the right functional role [and has a causal element in the
content], we get the phenomenology for free. (270)
end p.68

And Jackson implies that all the facts about the five features are physically explicable:
these facts are a priori deducible from the physical facts.
Thus, Jackson's argument for J2 comprises three main claims:

1.Mental representation in general is physically explicable: all facts about mental


representation in general (a feature of belief no less than sensory experience) are a
priori deducible from the physical facts, perhaps via one of the leading theories
currently on offer. 7
2.The five-feature analysis explains phenomenal representation: the way color
experiences phenomenally represent, the feel, “is a matter of immediacy,
inextricability, and richness of representational content, and the right kind of functional
role” (Jackson 2003: 271), plus a causal element in the content.
3.All five features are physically explicable: all facts about the five features (immediacy,
inextricability, etc.) are a priori deducible from the physical facts.

Against the Argument from Representationalism


In response to the argument from representationalism, advocates of the knowledge
argument might question representationalism or Jackson's argument for it. 8 I will do
neither. In my view, advocates of the knowledge argument can accept both. I will
question Jackson's argument for J2, the premise that Mary can deduce all the facts about
the representational character of color experiences from the physical facts, without
leaving the room.
The problem concerns Jackson's five-feature analysis. Let us grant the other two
components of his argument for J2, that both mental representation in general and all five
features in particular are a priori deducible from the physical facts. Suppose that, while in
the room, Mary does the deduction. So, for example, if the correct theory of how belief
(or belief content) represents is a causal theory, then she knows all the relevant facts
about causation and how the theory applies to these facts. Further, she knows all about
the inextricable richness, the functional role, and so on, pertaining to seeing red. Now,
when she leaves the room and sees a red tomato, does she learn anything new about
phenomenally representing red? There is a strong intuition that she does. 9 As a substitute
for seeing red, her knowledge of the five features and the correct theory of mental
representation seems hardly better than, say, her knowledge of neurobiology. Intuitively,
it seems that none of this knowledge puts her in a position to deduce the distinctive,
phenomenal way in which seeing red represents. How strong is the intuition? It is exactly
as strong as the corresponding intuition about the Mary case before representationalism
was brought onto the scene—the intuition that when she leaves the black-and-white
room, she learns something about phenomenal character.
end p.69

Granted, we cannot describe Mary's epistemic progress in terms of her becoming


acquainted with certain phenomenal properties, if no such properties are instantiated in
her experiences. But other descriptions are available. Following David Chalmers (2004b),
we could say that she learns more about the phenomenal manner of representation in
which the color-sighted ordinarily represent redness. One could also say that seeing the
tomato allows Mary to eliminate epistemic possibilities concerning how seeing red
represents: possibilities that she cannot eliminate, or fully understand, before she leaves
the room, despite her comprehensive physical knowledge. For example, when she sees
the tomato she can eliminate the possibility that what it's like to represent redness is G,
where G is what it's like to represent greenness. 10 Her knowledge of the five features is
third-person knowledge, which is deducible from her vast store of physical knowledge.
The intuition that she acquires further first-person knowledge when she leaves the room
persists. If this is right, then Jackson's five-feature analysis of phenomenal representation
is inadequate.
Jackson does present one argument for his analysis. He writes:
Think of what happens when you summon up a mental image of an event described in a
passage of prose. To make it image-like, you have to fill in the gaps; you have to include
a red shirt kicking the winning goal from some part of the football field with some given
trajectory, you have to make the goal scorer some putative size or other, you have to
locate the goal somewhere, and so on and so forth. … Also, you need to create a
representation that represents inextricably. The “part” that delivers the size of the scorer
is also the “part” that delivers the putative location of the scorer and the colour of the
shirt. And so on. To the extent that you succeed, you create a state with a
phenomenology. (Jackson 2003: 270–71)
This is suspicious. Suppose Jackson is right that in order to form a certain mental image
from a passage of prose, one must create a representational state that is inextricably rich,
has a causal element in its content, and so on. It does not follow that knowing all about
this inextricable richness and so on would allow one to a priori deduce the phenomenal
manner in which the state represents. Yet the latter deducibility claim is what he needs to
establish J2, the premise that Mary can deduce all the facts about the representational
character of color experiences from the physical facts, without leaving the room. 11
end p.70

After presenting his analysis, Jackson writes, “Obviously, there is much more to say here,
both by way of elucidation and by way of defense” (2003: 270). Might more elucidation
and defense resolve the difficulty I have raised? I do not see how. Jackson seems to imply
that his analysis need only provide a way of distinguishing between the experiences of
the color-sighted and those of “the blind sighted, the believers in what is written on notes,
and the bold guessers” (270). Perhaps his analysis accomplishes this. For example,
blindsight experiences might differ from color experiences with respect to the richness of
the representational features. But this sets the bar too low. To complete his case for J2,
his analysis must do more: it must capture how color experiences phenomenally
represent. 12
This would be no mean feat. There is something it's like to represent colors in the way
that Mary does not do until she leaves the room, and the idea that Jackson's analysis
provides a way of deducing these phenomenal manners of representation from the
physical facts gives rise to familiar intuitive doubts. We are left with the intuition that
Mary acquires information about these manners of representation when she leaves the
room. If she does, then the analysis leaves out something crucial about phenomenal
representation. The difficulty extends beyond the specific analysis that Jackson
articulates. Explaining phenomenal representation in physical terms presents the same
intuitive difficulties as explaining phenomenal character in physical terms. Indeed, the
issues of whether representationalism is true and whether the knowledge argument is
sound would appear to be substantially, if not entirely, independent. 13
Sometimes representationalism is understood to entail physicalism by definition. But
nonphysicalists can accept representationalism in the sense of J1: they can accept that all
facts about the phenomenal character of color experiences concern their representational
character. Nonphysicalist representationalists will argue that certain aspects of
representational character, such as phenomenal manners of representation, are not
physically explicable. Further, nonphysicalists can accept the diaphanousness of
experience. They can argue that, although one cannot attend to the phenomenal character
of one's experiences except by attending to what one's experiences represent, experiences
involve nonphysical representational properties—properties distinct from those that one's
experiences represent.
Let me put my main point another way. The knowledge argument applies to all versions
of physicalism. This includes the conjunction of J1 and J2, since this conjunction
constitutes a representationalist version of physicalism. Therefore, to use these claims to
answer the knowledge argument would be question-begging unless independent reasons
for believing them were provided—reasons that do not assume physicalism. Perhaps such
reasons could be given. But then it would be these reasons, not the conjunction of J1and
J2, that answer the knowledge argument.
Jackson's five-feature analysis of phenomenal representation would, if successful,
provide such a reason (assuming that all five features are physically explicable). But the
doubts that the Mary case raises for familiar versions of physicalism apply
end p.71

with equal force to his analysis. So the analysis leaves physicalists back at square one:
they must find a way to answer the challenge the Mary case presents. At the end of
“Mind and Illusion” (2003: 271), Jackson endorses the Lewis-Nemirow ability
hypothesis, on which Mary acquires abilities but no information when she leaves the
room. 14 This too would constitute an independent basis for rejecting the knowledge
argument. But then it is the ability hypothesis, not representationalism, that answers the
knowledge argument. Moral: Representationalism does not provide any clear resources
for answering the knowledge argument.

Weak, Strong, and Ultrastrong Representationalism

So far, I have responded to Jackson's arguments as presented in his 2003 essay. In chapter
3 of this volume, he replies to this response by contending that my argument succeeds
only if I assume an overly weak form of representationalism. 15 He characterizes the
strong form of representationalism that he endorses as follows:
Strong representationalism … is the doctrine that the content of an experience plus the
fact that the experience represents the content as obtaining in the way distinctive of
perceptual representation are what determines the experience's nature without remainder.
(58)
Weak representationalism is the same thesis without the “without remainder” clause: on
this view, although “experiences must by their very nature represent,” their
representational character is not “the sole determinant of experiential nature.”
However, my argument does not concern weak representationalism. Weak
representationalism is inconsistent with J1, and I grant J1 for the sake of argument.
Again, J1 says that all facts about the phenomenal character of color experiences concern
their representational character. I see no difference between J1 and strong
representationalism that has any relevance to my argument. In effect, strong and weak
representationalism differ over whether there are nonrepresentational phenomenal
properties that partly determine the nature of color experiences. The weak form allows
that there may be such properties, and the strong form excludes them. But J1 excludes
them, too. If there were such properties, then there would also be facts about phenomenal
character that do not concern representational character. And J1 says that there are no
such facts. My main contention is that even if strong representationalism is true, the
knowledge argument retains is force.

I do make assumptions that certain representationalists may deny. In particular, I assume


that the nature of a color experience is determined at least partly by representational
properties, such as the property of representing phenomenal redness in a certain manner,
and not just by represented properties, such as redness. Might Jackson accept an even
stronger version of representationalism with which this assumption conflicts? That would
explain why he contends that I assume an overly weak form of the view. We could define
ultrastrong representationalism as the thesis that all facts about the phenomenal character
of color experiences concern the properties those experiences represent. 16
But this suggestion only raises further problems. For one thing, in defending strong
representationalism, Jackson seems to commit himself to the assumption that
representational properties play a role in determining the nature of a color experience.
Represented properties may determine the nature of an experience by figuring into its
intentional content. But on strong representationalism, an experience's nature is
determined by not only its content but also “the fact that the experience represents the
content as obtaining in the way distinctive of perceptual representation.” Such a way
would appear to be a representational property, not a represented property. In fact, this
way seems to be precisely what I earlier called a phenomenal manner of representation.
Moreover, the assumption that representational properties at least partly determine the
nature of color experiences is plausible; and the intuition that Mary learns something
upon leaving the room supports it. She can infer from what the lectures teach her that
redness is instantiated in various objects outside the room. If she learns anything when
she leaves and sees a red tomato, she learns how we visually represent this color. How we
do this—the phenomenal manner of representation—is a representational property, not a
represented one: a feature of our experiences, not tomatoes. Other creatures may
represent the same color in a different phenomenal manner. Seeing the tomato helps her
understand how we typically do this. This remains plausible even if we assume strong
representationalism and the diaphanousness thesis (that is, even if we assume that Mary's
experience has no nonrepresentational phenomenal qualities and that she cannot attend to
the relevant phenomenal manner of representation without attending to the tomato's
redness). And though the tomato's redness may or may not play a role in determining the
nature of color experiences, the relevant phenomenal manner clearly plays a determining
role. 17
end p.73

But suppose one embraces an ultrastrong version of representationalism that eschews


phenomenal manners of representation. On this view, color experiences involve only
what Chalmers (2004b) calls “pure representational properties”: properties of
representing tout court that such-and-such is the case. How would the ultrastrong
representationalist distinguish between phenomenal and nonphenomenal representation?
He would simply maintain that certain contents can be represented in experience but
cannot be represented in the absence of a relevant experience. Does this view blunt the
force of the knowledge argument?
No. Granted, on ultrastrong representationalism we cannot describe what Mary learns
upon leaving the room in terms of phenomenal manners. But the intuition that she learns
something remains unaffected. Assuming ultrastrong representationalism, we would
express the intuition as the claim that Mary comes to know about the instantiation of
certain pure representational properties. The knowledge argument would then have the
upshot that some pure representational properties are nonphysical—a result no physicalist
can accept. So even ultrastrong representationalism fails to undermine the knowledge
argument. 18

Conclusion

Jackson attempts to answer the knowledge argument by combining representationalism


about color experiences with a physicalist account of phenomenal representation. I have
argued that this strategy cannot work. The problems that the Mary case creates for
physicalist accounts of phenomenal character carry over undiminished to physicalist
accounts of phenomenal representation, including the account Jackson proposes. In the
debate over the knowledge argument, representationalism would appear to be a red
herring.
This result suggests a more general moral: bringing representationalism to bear on the
debate over whether consciousness is physical leaves everything more or less as it was.
Suppose, on the one hand, that representationalism is true. Then instead of asking, “Is
phenomenally conscious experience physical?” we should ask, “Is phenomenal
representation physical?” But the latter question raises the same issues as the former.
Physicalist accounts of phenomenal representation face representationalist versions of the
antiphysicalist arguments—the knowledge argument, the conceivability argument, and so
on (Chalmers 1996, 2003)—and representationalism does not seem to provide any
resources for answering these arguments. Similarly, antiphysicalist representationalists
face representationalist versions of the familiar problems with antiphysicalism. For
example, these philosophers must contend with
end p.74

the positive arguments for physicalism, and they must explain how nonphysical aspects
of mental representation relate (causally or otherwise) to physical phenomena. Suppose,
on the other hand, that representationalism is false. Does this help resolve the issue of
whether physicalism is true? It seems not. If we reject representationalism, then it will be
natural to focus the debate on nonrepresentational aspects of conscious experience rather
than on phenomenal representation. But this changes nothing of substance. The
nonrepresentational aspects of experience may be nonphysical, but then again they may
be physical. Perhaps it is now clear why the argument from representationalism must fail:
the issues of whether representationalism and physicalism are true are orthogonal.
Acknowledgments

This chapter emerged from my commentary on Frank Jackson's presentation at the 2002
NEH Summer Institute on Consciousness and Intentionality, at the University of
California, Santa Cruz. I also presented a draft of this chapter at the 2003 Pacific Division
Meeting of the American Philosophical Association. For helpful comments and
discussions, I thank William FitzPatrick, Frank Jackson, Amy Kind, Stuart Rachels,
Daniel Stoljar, my APA commentator Robert van Gulick, Sven Walter, those who
attended the presentations, and especially David Chalmers. I began work on this chapter
during a leave that was made possible by an American Philosophical Society Sabbatical
Fellowship and the University of Alabama. I thank both institutions.

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Jackson, F. (1995). Postscript. In Contemporary Materialism, ed. P. Moser and J. Trout:
184–89. London: Routledge.
Jackson, F. (1998a). From Metaphysics to Ethics: A Defense of Conceptual Analysis.
Oxford: Clarendon.
Jackson, F. (1998b). Postscript on Qualia. In Mind, Method, and Conditionals: Selected
Essays: 76–79. London: Routledge.
Jackson, F. (2003). Mind and Illusion. In Minds and Persons: Royal Institute of
Philosophy Supplement 53, ed. A. O'Hear: 251–71. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Jackson, F. (2004). Forward: Looking Back on the Knowledge Argument. In There's
Something about Mary, ed. P. Ludlow, D. Stoljar, and Y. Nagasawa: xv–ix. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Kind, A. (2003). What's So Transparent about Transparency? Philosophical Studies 115:
225–44.
Lewis, D. (1988). What Experience Teaches. Proceedings of Russellian Society
(University of Sydney). Reprinted in Philosophy of Mind: Classical and Contemporary
Readings, ed. D. Chalmers: 281–94. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Loar, B. (1990/97). Phenomenal States. Philosophical Perspectives 4: Action Theory and
Philosophy of Mind, ed. J. Tomberlin: 81–108. Atascadero, Calif.: Ridgeview. Revised
version in The Nature of Consciousness, ed. N. Block, O. Flanagan, and G. Güzeldere:
597–616. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1997.
Moore, G. E. (1903). The Refutation of Idealism. Mind 12. Reprinted in G. E. Moore,
Philosophical Studies, 1922/1965: 1–30. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Nemirow, L. (1990). Physicalism and the Cognitive Role of Acquaintance. In Mind and
Cognition, ed. W. Lycan: 490–99. Cambridge: Basil Blackwell.
Robinson, W. (2003). Jackson's Apostasy. In Philosophical Studies 111: 277–93.

Searle, J. (1983). Intentionality. New York: Cambridge University Press.


Siewert, C. (1998). The Significance of Consciousness. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press.
Stoljar, D. (forthcoming). Consequence of Intentionalism. Erkenntnis.
Stoljar, D., and Nagasawa, Y. (2004). Introduction to There's Something about Mary, ed.
P. Ludlow, D. Stoljar, and Y. Nagasawa: 1–36. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Tye, M. (2000). Consciousness, Color, and Content. Cambridge: MIT Press.
end p.76

five What Is This Thing You Call Color Can a Totally Color-Blind
Person Know about Color?
Knut Nordby

Let us make the following thought experiment: A boy, let us call him Gus, is raised from
infancy to the age of 21 on very bland food and not allowed to eat or taste anything spicy
or strong tasting (while maintaining a nutritionally balanced diet containing all important
proteins, vitamins, and minerals). However, he is allowed and encouraged to read
everything about food and to discuss anything related to food and gastronomy. On his
twenty-first birthday, he is taken to ethnic restaurants and treated to various dishes, such
as hot curry, hot chili peppers, or wasabi (Japanese horseradish). Will he, after the shock,
be able to taste the spicy flavors, and, more important, will he be able to identify the
various tastes solely on the basis of his previously acquired knowledge, and without the
aid of vision?
This “Porridge Paradigm” is a kind-hearted paraphrase on Frank Jackson's (1982, 1986)
“Mary Contention.” Mary is similarly raised, but in a monochrome (black/gray/white)
environment where she is denied all visual experience of color hues, but is encouraged to
read and learn all there is about color. When, on her twenty-first birthday, she is let out
into the world of full colors, will she be able to experience the color hues and identify
them on the basis of her acquired knowledge?
I believe that Mary will be able to sense and discriminate color hues but will not be able
to name them on the basis of her knowledge. To develop my argument, it will be
necessary to look into some basic concepts of color vision as well as to look into some
analogous experiences in other sense modalities.
Visual information is mediated by the sensory cells (cones and rods) of the retina of the
eye. The cones mediate vision under bright (photopic) light conditions, and the rods
mediate visual information under low (scotopic) light conditions. There is an
intermediary (mesopic) region where the cones start to function. There are three types of
cones, each type with its peak sensitivity to light of different wavelengths. For the sake of
simplicity, we can call them blue (short wavelength) sensitive; green (middle
wavelength) sensitive, and red (long wavelength) sensitive cones. The relative
contributions of the three cone types, when combined in the color centers of the visual
cortex of the brain, give rise to the sensation of color. There is one kind of rod; rods are
most sensitive for middle wavelengths, but they do not contribute specifically to color
perception (for details, see Rodieck 1998).
The great nineteenth-century Scottish physicist James Clark Maxwell claimed that color
was an integral property of object surfaces. Thus, if you could not sense color, you would
not be able to perceive the form of objects. Maxwell's maxim may not hold for chromatic
colors because there are people who lack all color sensation (a condition called
achromatopsia, or congenital typical rod monochromacy), but who can perfectly well see
the form of objects.
I happen to be one of these people (Nordby 1990). I may thus be regarded as a living
embodiment of the Mary in the gray-room thought experiment. But there are some
important differences. (1) I was born without retinal cones, (2) I have always been
exposed to colors, and (3) I did not, and will not, experience the “coming out” on my
twenty-first birthday.
People who are totally total color-blind or achromatopic have visual input only from
retinal rods and see only in contrasts of brightness. They thus live in a perpetual state of
“night vision” (Sharpe and Nordby 1990a, 1990b). Typical achromatopsia (or rod
monochromacy) is congenital and nonprogressive. It is characterized by:
•Total lack of color discrimination (though people with this condition can match any
color hue to any other color hue or shade of gray on the basis of brightness)
•Hypersensitivity to bright light (called “photophobia”)

•Low visual acuity (typically 6/60 [or 20/200] Snellen, which means that people with this
condition can resolve fine detail at 6 meters [20 feet] that people with normal acuity can
resolve at 60 meters [200 feet])
•Nystagmus (involuntary, rapid side-to-side movement of the eyes; this diminishes with
age)

There is an old proverb saying that: At night, all cats are gray, implying that people with
normal color vision (trichromates) will experience loss of color perception at very low
(scotopic) levels of illumination: night vision is achromatic.
Although typical achromatopsia is very rare (estimated at 1 in 30,000 or 1 in 40,000)
there is a much rarer cortical form of achromatopsia. Oliver Sacks and Robert
Wasserman report the story of the painter Jonathan Isacson, who lost all color perception
as a result of a cerebral trauma after a car accident (Sacks and Wasserman 1987, Sacks
1995). After a couple of months, he could not even remember what colors looked like
and knew only as a piece of fact that he had once been able to experience colors.
There are also incomplete forms of achromatopsia, as with people who are “totally color
blind” but who can still see some colors. 1 These cases must not be confused with
dichromates or anomalous trichromates, the traditionally “color-blind,” who are, for
example, protanopes (red blind) or deuteranopes (green blind).
People living under normally bright (photopic) lighting conditions will have their visual
information mediated by the retinal cones and rods regardless of what wavelengths they
are subjected to. Mary's black/gray/white world will thus
end p.78

stimulate her normal color-sensing system—just as black, gray, and white can be
perfectly rendered on color film or by color television—so, eventually, when she is
subjected to all the colors out in the real world, her visual system should be fully able to
mediate light wavelength information that gives rise to color sensations. Still, of course,
Mary will not know what to call the various color sensations unless she makes use of
noncolor information; for example, knowing that a rose is red, she may recognize the
form of a rose and deduce that therefore its color must be red. Achromatopic people do
this all the time by memorizing such facts as that fire engines are red, violets are blue,
grass is green, lemons are yellow, and so on. This enables them to “know” colors without
experiencing the color hues. This would therefore pose a problem in testing Mary's color
perception. A totally color-blind person will happily match any color hue to any other
color hue or gray tone by adjusting the brightness, but Mary would not be able to do this;
she will not be able to match green with a red color or gray tone, no matter what
brightness they have.
A totally different situation would arise if Mary were raised under very low (scotopic)
levels of illumination. Then her photopic (cone-mediated) visual system would not
receive adequate input and would most likely deteriorate under lack of appropriate
stimulation. She would then probably show the signs of what was once called “miners'
nystagmus,” a visual condition regularly reported in people (not least children) who for
many years, often from an early age, worked in total, or nearly total, darkness in the
mines. Up to the end of the nineteenth century, it was common to send children as young
as six into the mines to work long hours performing some simple task, such as opening a
gate for mine trucks or pulling a lever to tip the trucks. Their tasks were not considered
important enough to warrant the use of lighting, which was expensive, and they usually
had to work up to 14 hours a day in total or nearly total darkness. In addition, it was
normally dark outside when they entered the mine, and it was often dark when they came
up. The most telling symptoms in these people were nystagmus and photophobia (a
misleading term because the condition has nothing to do with the irrational phobias of
psychiatry). It is not known exactly how their color vision was affected, but there is some
evidence that it was reduced; it is astonishing how little attention was paid to color-vision
defects before the twentieth century. Thus, if Mary were raised under scotopic conditions,
she would almost certainly display the typical symptoms of miners' nystagmus and would
probably not be able to perceive colors, but she might be able to name the colors of
known objects from general knowledge.

So What Is This Thing You Call Color?

Can an achromatopic person ever have any idea what a color experience is? Most
achromatopic people think of color as some curious property of surfaces that for them is
somehow related to their apparent brightness. Thus yellow looks lighter than other colors,
and red looks darker.
To be able to cope in the world of color-sighted people and avoid embarrassment, most
achromatopic people teach themselves the colors of common objects
end p.79

and the cultural “meaning” of some colors (e.g., red for danger, green for clear, blue for
sadness).
In 1994, in the company of neurologist and writer Oliver Sacks and ophthalmologist
Robert Wasserman, I visited the island of Pingelap, a small isolated atoll in the Carolines
archipelago in the Pacific on which there is a high incidence of achromatopic people
(Sacks 1996). We made a rather interesting observation: while testing the color-naming
abilities of the islanders, we were made aware by our interpreter that there was no proper
name for the color orange in the Pingelapese language, probably because this color was
not very prominent in the local flora or fauna. However, we could easily have been
fooled because those islanders who had color vision called it the “orange color,” meaning
the color of oranges, which they had only recently come to know (no oranges grow on the
atoll). Thus, even though the inhabitants of Pingelap traditionally had not been subjected
much to the color orange, and therefore had no local name for it, they could still clearly
recognize it and distinguish it from other colors by likening it to the color of a fruit they
had recently been introduced to. This is as close as I have ever come to Jackson's “Mary
Contention” in real life. There is of course the possibility that the inhabitants of Pingelap
had always known the color orange but that it was so irrelevant for them that they never
bothered to give it a name.
One way for me to attempt to visualize the special quality of experiencing color is to
liken color to the musical quality of tones, or chroma. Whereas colors have brightness
and hue (where brightness is a function of the number of photons striking the retina, and
hue is related to the wavelength of the light), tones have loudness, pitch, timbre, and
chroma. A tone's loudness is a function of the sound pressure in micro pascal (μPa); a
tone's pitch is a direct function of its frequency in hertz (Hz); a tone's timbre derives from
the number and strength of its harmonics; and a tone's chrome (or musicality) is a
function of its frequency in Hz and a cyclical element repeating each octave (a musical
octave is a doubling of its fundamental frequency). When speaking of “tones,” I refer
specifically to the diatonic tone scales used in Western music.
Chroma is the special property of tones that give them their musical tonality. Tones that
are one or more octaves apart sound more similar than tones that lie close together on the
scale; thus the tones middle C, c, c1, and c2 (each separated from the next by an octave)
have a musical property in common that is not present between C and C-sharp or between
C and C-flat, the closest neighbors on the frequency scale (see fig. 5.1).
The same holds for all the other tones on the diatonic scale; thus C#, D, D#, E, F, F#, G,
G#, A, A#, and B each sound more similar to tones one or more octaves above (or below)
than to other tones on the scale. However, when we go above 4,000 Hz (close to the
uppermost key on the piano keyboard), the sensation of musical chroma disappears, and
we become tone deaf. This may be likened to the disappearance of color under scotopic
conditions. There are people who cannot make out a melody but have perfect pitch
discrimination, and we call them “tone deaf.”
In an unpublished experiment I performed some thirty years ago, I let subjects listen to
short melodies played both in the 2,000–4,000 Hz octave and in the
end p.80
Figure 5.1. The figure depicts the cyclical tone property of “chroma” (spiral) as a
function of log frequency in Hz. The tones of the diatonic scale are indicated as lines on
the periphery of the cylinder. Each turn of the “chroma” line is one octave.

4,000–8,000 Hz octave. The melodies had the same rhythm and similar up-and-down
movements to avoid recognition on these criteria. All the subjects could easily recognize
all the melodies in the lower octave, but none could positively identify any melody in the
upper octave; they had to resort to guessing. This implies that it is not possible to make
music with tones that have their basic frequencies in the region above 4 kHz, and people
with normal hearing thus become “tone deaf” above 4 kHz.
Some will probably object to my comparison of color to tone chroma, and they instead
will propose that color is more comparable to the timbre or tone color of instruments than
to the cyclical tone chroma. Timbre results from the combination of the fundamental
frequency of the tone and the harmonics (or overtones) of different frequencies that
produce the characteristic tone colors of instruments and makes it possible to distinguish
a flute from a clarinet, a piano from a guitar, and one human voice from another. For me,
timbre is a tone quality that is not dependent on its fundamental pitch, and people can be
tone deaf for all timbres: timbre is a direct property of the sound, whereas chroma is a
more elusive property. You may describe sound timbre by likening it to other sounds
(e.g., a flute sounds like a certain bird, and a kettledrum sounds like distant thunder), but
you cannot compare the quality of C-ness with D-ness, E-ness or G-ness, just as you
cannot equate the color quality of blueness with greenness or redness.
For me, tone chroma is an inherent property of “tones” that cannot be separated from
them, just as Maxwell maintained that color was an intrinsic property of object surfaces.
Although the “chroma metaphor” may convey the idea of a special sensory
end p.81
property solely as an abstract thought exercise, it can never depict the actual experience
of color. Colors, like tones and tastes, are firsthand sensory experiences, and no amount
of acquired theoretical knowledge can create this experience. Or is this so?
The color-blind painter, Jonathan Isacson, very soon forgot about his earlier color
experiences following his traumatic loss of color perception, implying that the color
centers in his brain lost their original function. Most people who lose a sense modality
soon forget about the sensations of the lost modality, especially if the loss occurs early in
life. However, there are cases of people who have lost their vision or hearing but who
have retained or even developed a very strong inner visual or auditory imagery. In
hearing, the case of Beethoven comes to mind; he composed some of his finest music
after going completely deaf. And there are cases of people who have lost their vision but
actively developed very intense inner visual imagery; Sacks (2003) has described several
such cases.
Could it be that there are some unknown people out there who cannot sense colors but
who have developed an inner “color vision” of their own making? Whatever inner
sensations they call “color” may have no relation to or bear no resemblance to what the
color-sighted call color. However, such inner color would not help these people avoid
unripe fruit or recognize objects on the basis of their hue, though it could be
psychologically satisfying for their inner life.
Now that Jackson has retracted his famous knowledge argument (see Jackson, chap. 3,
this volume; and Alter, chap. 4, this volume), it may look like flogging a dead horse to
further argue against the speculative and unsubstantiated “Mary Contention,” but poor
Mary has already caught the public imagination, and like many other unsubstantiated
theories before it, it will take years for it to disappear. Since, as a color-blind person, I am
often confronted with Jackson's contention, I appreciate this opportunity to state my view
on the issue. I also wish to offer Jackson my apologies for paraphrasing his “Mary
Contention,” but the temptation was just irresistible. 2

References

Jackson, F. (1982). Epiphenomenal Qualia. Philosophical Quarterly 32: 127–36.

Jackson, F. (1986). What Mary Didn't Know. Journal of Philosophy 83: 291–95.

Nordby, K. (1990). Vision in a Complete Achromat: A Personal Account. In Night


Vision: Basic, Clinical and Applied Aspects, ed. R. F. Hess, L. T. Sharpe, and K. Nordby:
290–315. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Rodieck, R. W. (1998). The First Steps in Seeing. Sunderland, MA: Sinauer.
Sacks, O. (1995). The Case of the Colour-Blind Painter. In An Anthropologist on Mars:
1–38. New York: Vintage Books.
Sacks, O. (1996). The Island of the Colorblind. New York: Vintage Books.
Sacks, O. (2003). The Mind's Eye: What the Blind See. New Yorker, July 28.
Sacks, O., and Wasserman, R. (1987). The Case of the Color-Blind Painter. New York
Review of Books, November 19, 1987.
Sharpe, L. T., and Nordby, K. (1990a). The Photoreceptors of an Achromat. In Night
Vision: Basic, Clinical, and Applied Aspects, ed. R. F. Hess, L. T. Sharpe, and K.
Nordby: 335–89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Sharpe, L. T., and Nordby, K. (1990b). Total Colorblindness: An Introduction. In Night
Vision: Basic, Clinical and Applied Aspects, ed. R. F. Hess, L. T. Sharpe, and K. Nordby:
253–89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
end p.83

end p.84

Part two Phenomenal Concepts


end p.85

end p.86

six What Is a Phenomenal Concept?


Janet Levin

An increasing number of physicalists agree that phenomenal concepts should be treated


as special sorts of representations, conceptually independent of physical or functional
descriptions, which a subject can acquire only by having the experiences they denote. 1
This account is compatible with physicalism, they argue, so long as these concepts pick
out their referents directly, much like demonstratives, without mediation by any mode of
presentation. Indeed, these physicalists stress, such a view can provide a one-stop
solution to a number of well-known problems that have threatened the identification of
phenomenal and physical properties: it can explain, without appeal to nonphysical
properties, what Mary learns when she leaves her black-and-white room (Jackson 1982),
why zombies are conceivable (Chalmers 1996), how irreducibly phenomenal concepts
can refer to physical properties (White 1986), and why phenomenal-physical identities
seem to open an “explanatory gap” (Levine 1983) not encountered in other cases of inter-
theoretic reduction.
But there has also been increasing criticism of this account of phenomenal concepts: not
surprisingly by dualists, but also by physicalists, including some who had previously
endorsed the view. 2 My aim here is to present and evaluate these criticisms and to
provide a limited defense of the demonstrative account. I do this not as an originator or
early proponent of the view (or even as a current true believer), but rather as a physicalist
who has argued (1991, 2002) that phenomenal concepts must be at least partially
functional to provide a satisfactory response to the antiphysicalist concerns. For reasons
I'll make clear in this chapter, I suspect that my defense of (what I'll call) quasi-
functionalism may have sprung from (what Freud called) the narcissism of small
differences, and I now think that a demonstrative view may be able to meet my own
previous worries and those alluded to above. Equally important, I'm alarmed by the
emendations to the demonstrative account that have recently been suggested by some
physicalists (Balog 2002; Block, chap. 12, this volume; Papineau 2002) and agnostics
(Levine, chap. 8, this volume). These suggestions seem to concede too much to the
antiphysicalists while accomplishing too little, and one aim of this chapter is to urge
demonstrative theorists to return to their roots. Even so, my defense of the demonstrative
account will be limited, because there are other, freshly articulated, worries about
physicalism that suggest that it may need refinement: for example, the “harder problem of
conscious experience” recently noted by Ned Block (2002). 3 But a clear-eyed appraisal
of its strengths is important for determining how physicalists can best proceed from here.
The Demonstrative Account
Most physicalists who take phenomenal concepts to function like demonstratives suggest
that they denote whichever neural properties are causally responsible for our application
of these concepts in various introspective tasks. Which tasks these are depends on
whether one is interested in type or token phenomenal concepts. Token phenomenal
concepts are those that can be used to pick out an instance of an experience with some
salient qualitative character (Tye 1995), and they are taken to denote in the manner of
token-demonstrative concepts. That is, whichever (neural) particular causes me to make
introspective note of some experience I'm now having counts as the denotation of the
token-demonstrative “that (experience I'm having now).” 4 And if I'm having more than
one experience at a time (as when I simultaneously have a pain, hear a noise, and see red,
or when I focus successively on two different shades of red), then I can denote distinct
neural-particulars, respectively, as “this,” “that,” and so on, as long as I can discriminate
among these experiences and successively direct my introspective attention to them at
that time. Though token-demonstrative concepts can be invoked to explain certain
features of introspective knowledge (Tye 1995), they don't have to be stored in memory,
and their referential success implies nothing about the user's ability to recognize other
such experiences as experiences of that kind. Thus their usefulness is limited, since—for
reasons I'll discuss shortly—they can function only to pick out instances of experiences
with phenomenal properties, and not those properties themselves.
end p.88

Of greater use against the antiphysicalist arguments are type-demonstrative phenomenal


concepts (“that kind [of experience]”), which purport to pick out kinds or properties of
experiences from an introspective perspective. The denotation of a phenomenal type-
demonstrative will be the property—presumably physical—that's causally responsible for
the application of that concept in the introspective recognition or reidentification of an
experience as “that (kind) again” or “another of those.” 5 These concepts, as noted before,
are taken to refer “directly”; that is, to have no reference-fixing “modes of presentation”
or Kaplanian “characters” that can change reference from world to world (e.g., “the
property I am ostending now and am disposed to identify as ‘another one of those’ ”).
Rather, their references are determined solely by the causal and dispositional relations an
individual has to her internal states that are effected by an introspective “pointing in”;
that is, by the fact that she's in causal contact with a certain property and is disposed to
reidentify it on subsequent occasions. 6 Brian Loar was perhaps the first to propose and
articulate this suggestion (1990/97), and it has been adopted by many physicalists since. 7
Loar himself characterizes these concepts as “recognitional/demonstrative,” presumably
because of the crucial role that recognitional abilities play in their individuation, but I'll
continue to use the term “type-demonstrative” in what follows.
I've just suggested that only concepts that fulfill the conditions for being type- (but not
token-) demonstratives can denote repeatable phenomenal properties, rather than merely
particular experiences that have them. But why, one might wonder, must this be so; why
couldn't (what I've called) a token-demonstrative denote a phenomenal property by
picking out (that is, by being caused by) an experience with that property that is attended
to in introspection? The reason is that the ability to recognize or reidentify is required to
underwrite determinate reference to a particular property. The best way—perhaps the
only physicalistically acceptable way—to determine whether someone's current “pointing
in” denotes what it's like to see some particular shade of red, or a more coarse-grained
phenomenal property (e.g., red in general, or color), or one of a number of phenomenal
properties that are instantiated in an experience but impossible to attend to selectively at
that time (such as what it's like to see a square and what it's like to see red when one is
looking at a red square), is to see what she is disposed to identify as other instances of
that property. Thus I'll focus primarily on phenomenal concepts as type-demonstratives in
this chapter.
end p.89

Even so, phenomenal concepts can't be fully understood on the model of nonphenomenal
type-demonstrative concepts, such as “that (kind of cactus)” or “this (style of
architecture),” because they are supposed to be acquired “via introspection,” or “from an
introspective perspective,” and more has to be said about what exactly that entails. 8 But
there are two essential features of demonstratives that phenomenal concepts, on this view,
are taken to share: first, they pick out their referents from a particular point of view—the
perspective of the demonstrator—and thus are not equivalent to any nonperspectival
(discursive, objective) concepts; second, they can pick out their referents “directly,”
without need of identifying modes of presentation.
These essential features, many physicalists argue, serve to explain, or explain away, all
the well-known phenomena that are thought to raise problems for physicalism. If
phenomenal concepts are not equivalent to any physical or functional concepts, then what
Mary can be said to gain when she leaves the black-and-white room is not access to a set
of irreducibly phenomenal properties of color vision, but just a new way of
conceptualizing the physical and functional properties that she knew about, under
different descriptions, before. 9 And just as my ability, under certain circumstances, to
wonder whether that (pointing at myself ) is me does not suggest that there's a possible
world in which I am not myself, the conceivability of a zombie—that is, a molecular
duplicate of me that does not feel like that (pointing in)—will provide no evidence that
such a thing is possible. Further (in response to the “distinct property argument”), if
phenomenal concepts refer “directly,” then their nonequivalence to physical or functional
concepts does not imply that they must denote by means of a nonphysical mode of
presentation. And finally (in response to worries about an explanatory gap), if
phenomenal concepts function like demonstratives, then phenomenal-physical
identifications involving these concepts should be expected to be very different from the
usual cases of inter-theoretical reduction, and thus their explanatory asymmetries need
not saddle the physicalist with any unusual burden of proof.
One person's one-stop solution, however, can be another's blunt instrument, and many
philosophers have charged that the strategy of treating phenomenal concepts as special
sorts of type-demonstratives will ultimately fail because they are invoked for what seem
to be incompatible tasks: To avoid the conclusion that phenomenal concepts denote or
express irreducible phenomenal properties, the worry goes, they must denote “directly,”
like other demonstrative concepts, without need for special, arguably nonphysical, modes
of presentation. But if these concepts are sufficiently “thin” to denote the way a
demonstrative does—that is, by serving merely as a pointer directed at (that is,
differentially caused by) a type of experience—then they are insufficiently robust to
account for what seems special about phenomenal concepts, or why the knowledge that
Mary acquires when she leaves her black-and-white room seems so substantive, or why
the explanatory gap appears just in cases of physical-phenomenal identification. Let us
address these worries in turn.
end p.90

Are Phenomenal Demonstratives “Empty”?

There's a simple and basic objection to the demonstrative model that has been explicitly
expressed by a number of theorists, and it may well lie behind what seems to be
increasing discomfort with the view. These critics acknowledge that phenomenal
demonstratives may be different from other demonstratives (e.g., “this [directed at a chair
or table],” “that [style of architecture]”) in that they are acquired by means of
introspective attention to one's own experiences. But, they note, that alone can't mark the
difference between phenomenal concepts and others because there are other,
nonphenomenal, demonstratives that can be acquired and deployed from an
“introspective perspective” as well. For example, Horgan and Tienson (2001) and Block
(in conversation) have suggested that blindsight subjects could equally well use
demonstratives in introspection to denote their peculiar, nonphenomenal, states. 10 Thus,
the objection continues, to characterize phenomenal concepts as introspectively acquired
demonstratives doesn't capture what's special about them.
To stanch these and related worries, some physicalists (and agnostics) have attempted to
embellish the “classic” account of demonstrative concepts, suggesting that phenomenal
concepts must involve “acquaintance” with phenomenal properties (Levine, chap. 8, this
volume), or be “partially constituted” by phenomenal qualities (Block 2002), or “quote”
those properties (Papineau 2002, Balog 2002) by containing instances or tokens of them,
or have some other relation to the qualities they denote besides simply being
differentially caused by them in the appropriate circumstances, or producing dispositions
to reidentify them when they occur again.
But these proposals are obscure and, if spelled out in a way acceptable to physicalists,
may raise analogous questions: Why couldn't a blindsight subject's introspectively
deployed type-demonstratives quote, or be partially constituted by, the properties they
denote as well? More important, these proposals are unnecessary because they give
undue credence to intuitions that can be explained away by
end p.91

clear-eyed adherence to the “classic” account of demonstratives, and unflinching


acceptance of what physicalism entails.
In particular, if phenomenal concepts really function like introspectively deployed
demonstratives, then all that's needed to distinguish them from introspectively deployed
nonphenomenal demonstratives are differences in what they denote. This is the standard
way to think about demonstratives deployed from similar perspectives: if my (token)
“that” (pointing out the window) picks out a car with a particular constellation of
properties, then that's what determines whether I've denoted a Maserati (and not the
nearby Ford), and if my “that (kind)” consistently picks out all and only Maseratis, then
I've managed to denote the (very distinctive) property of being a Maserati (rather than
being a Ford). My demonstratives may thus be regarded as special (after all, they're
Maserati demonstratives), but this is entirely because of the features of what they denote.
Similarly (focusing here on token-demonstratives), the states a blindsight subject's
demonstratives denote are not experiences, since these states (by hypothesis) have no
phenomenal properties, whereas the states denoted by a normal person's demonstratives
do have phenomenal properties. If phenomenal properties are identical with physical
properties, then there will be physical differences between our experiences and the
introspectively denoted neural states of a blindsight subject. Some of these physical
properties, of course, will be “felt” by the subjects who have them, and some will not—
but that's just what it is for some, but not all, of them to be phenomenal. And that's all it
should take for the demonstratives that denote these states, or their associated
phenomenal properties, to be “special” as well. 11
What makes this view seem problematic, I suspect, is the thought that someone looking
through a scanner at the brains of a normal subject and a blindsight subject might not
realize (without consulting her textbook) that the neural states (or properties) denoted by
the normal subject's demonstratives have a special phenomenal “feel.” But this is no
objection to the demonstrative account, which is intended to acknowledge the
conceivability of physical but not phenomenal duplicates, and the existence of an
explanatory gap, while explaining how phenomenal properties can nonetheless be
identical with physical properties. To insist that one be able to tell immediately which
states, and thus which demonstratives, are phenomenal is to deny a premise shared by
demonstrative theorists and dualists: namely, that one can't read off the phenomenal
character of mental states from their physical or functional descriptions. 12
Still, there are other questions about the view that must be given serious attention. In the
next two sections, I'll try to dispel the worry I have had about the demonstrative theory,
namely, that physicalists ought to be able to do better in explaining (what seems to be)
the rich and robust knowledge that Mary gains when she leaves her black-and-white
room. I'll also address a separate worry about the view (Raffman 1995) that may seem
even more basic—and damaging. In the remainder of the chapter, I'll address the question
of how the account fares in the “two-dimensional semantics” as elaborated by David
Chalmers and Frank Jackson; in particular, I'll explore the question of whether treating
phenomenal concepts as demonstratives captures the way we take the contents of these
concepts to be determined in various possible worlds. Finally, I'll consider whether the
view can deal satisfactorily with a refinement of the “distinct property argument”
proposed recently by Stephen White (1999, this volume, chap. 11).

Phenomenal Demonstratives and Knowing What It's Like

The first question is whether the knowledge Mary gains from experience can be
adequately explained as the acquisition of phenomenal demonstratives that can figure in
propositional knowledge. The worry I expressed before, on behalf of the critics, was
whether the new facts expressed with these concepts are too “thin” to account for what
seems to be the rich and robust knowledge of experience that Mary gains when she leaves
her black-and-white room. This, of course, is a serious worry. There is another worry as
well, however, that seems to be more basic, namely, whether a type-demonstrative
account can even begin to do the job.
This worry is highlighted in a recent article by Diana Raffman (1995), who cites
empirical studies that show that we're incapable of having enough type-demonstrative
concepts to account even minimally for the knowledge we have of our own phenomenal
states. Raffman takes these studies to raise insoluble problems for the demonstrative
account of knowing what it's like—and therefore (on the assumption that
end p.93

this is indeed the best physicalist response to the knowledge argument) for physicalism
itself. 13 What I'll argue, though, is that there is a way of understanding knowing what it's
like that permits Raffman's observations to be accommodated by physicalists—and, in
addition, that helps to explain how the acquisition of phenomenal demonstratives can be
seen to provide knowledge as rich and robust as our intuitions demand.
Raffman's worry is this: A number of psychological studies suggest that normal subjects
can discriminate (that is, discern just noticeable differences [jnd's] among) far more
shades of color than they can reidentify over time. For example (her example), subjects
can discriminate subtly different shades of red (they distinguish, say, red-31 from red-32
and red-33) when presented with them simultaneously, but can't consistently pick out red-
31 (sometimes choosing red-32 and red-33) as “that (color I just saw)” when the various
shades are presented one by one. The same will be true, presumably, when subjects
attempt to reidentify the qualitative properties of their color experiences.
Thus, if having a phenomenal concept of a certain experiential property requires the
ability to reidentify the property when encountering it by itself (as well as being able to
discriminate it from others), then we can't have phenomenal concepts of such finely
individuated shades as red-31 and red-32. We may have discursive or “theoretical”
concepts of them, concepts such as “the shade that normal subjects judge to be three jnd
units from unique red,” and we may have coarser-grained phenomenal concepts, which
permit the reidentification of shades in a broader band. 14 In addition, we can use a token
phenomenal concept to pick out an instance of an experience with that phenomenal
property just by attending to it in introspection. But the range of our type-demonstrative
concepts of color experience falls short of the range of color experiences we can
discriminate in introspection (when they're simultaneously displayed).
So, the argument continues, if coming to know what it's like to have an experience is to
acquire a type-demonstrative concept of it, then there are many experiences—for
example, the experience of red-31—that we can't know what it's like to have. But clearly
a person who is currently discriminating red-31 from other shades in introspection will
have this knowledge: it's perfectly intuitive to think that if Mary were presented with a
sample of red-31 upon leaving her black-and-white room, she'd describe herself as now
(finally!) knowing what it's like to see red-31. Thus, the suggestion that what Mary gains
from experience are new type-demonstrative concepts derived from introspection cannot
account for all that Mary comes to know.
Physicalists, however, can respond to these worries by suggesting that, contrary to a
crucial premise in the argument, Mary doesn't know what it's like to see
end p.94

red-31, even though she can discriminate a red-31 shade from other shades in
simultaneous presentation. 15 Or, equivalently but more diplomatically, physicalists could
claim that our notion of knowing what it's like is ambiguous. 16 In one sense, anyone who
can discriminate the experience of some particular shade—say, red-31—from others in
introspection counts as knowing what it's like to experience that shade. All that this sort
of knowledge requires is the ability to apply, successively in introspection, a token-
demonstrative concept to a particular experience of red-31, and then to a different
experience. As long as there's a physical difference between these experience-tokens,
Mary can have different token-demonstrative concepts of them. So Mary does, in this
sense, know what it's like to see red-31 when she's looking at, and attending to, a sample
of that shade.
But in another, more substantive sense, those who are not disposed to reidentify the
experience of a shade as fine-grained as red-31, or to recognize instances of it when it
occurs by itself in introspection, do not know what it's like to see red-31 (rather than, say,
what it's like to see an instance of a broader band of the red spectrum that includes red-
31). These abilities are required for having (first-person) knowledge of a phenomenal
type, for without them, there is no way to determine which property is being
demonstrated by a subject who “points in” and thinks, “This is what it's like to see red.”
In this sense, of course, Mary may not know what it's like to see red-31 even after she
leaves her black-and-white room and stares, attentively, at a rose of that color. And if
Raffman's facts are correct, neither may we. 17 But why should this be a problem for
physicalism, rather than merely a fact about human memory and categorization
capacities?
Antiphysicalists may argue that it's “just intuitively clear” that, in this situation, Mary
does know what it's like to see red-31 in the second, more substantive sense. And their
argument may seem to be supported by another psychological fact adduced
end p.95

by Raffman, namely, that our ability to reidentify colors (and thus, presumably, color
experiences) seems to exhibit certain asymmetries. One can't, Raffman notes, simply
claim that though we have phenomenal concepts of a fairly broad band of phenomenal
reds and phenomenal greens—or maybe even phenomenal indigos and chartreuses—we
just don't have concepts as fine-grained as red-31 or red-32. For it turns out that people
are in fact very good at reidentifying—not just discriminating in simultaneous
presentation—the “unique” shades of red, green, yellow, and blue, even though they
occupy an equally fine-grained place in our color quality space. (“Unique” colors are
those that we might call “pure,” e.g., a red with no yellow or blue in it at all.)
So one might imagine Mary, just out of her black-and-white room, being presented with
two roses, one that's red-31 and one that's unique red. As she's looking at them and
reflecting on her new experiences, it may seem that she has equal grasp of their
phenomenal properties. But, on the view that takes knowledge of what it's like to see
colors as the possession of type-demonstrative concepts of color experience, Mary can
have robust, substantive knowledge only of what it's like to see unique red. And this may
seem counterintuitive, at best.
Physicalists, however, can acknowledge that Mary has some sort of equal cognitive
access to her experiences of unique red and red-31 in this situation, namely, she can
discriminate the experience tokens in question and judge that they seem to be different. In
this regard, Mary's experiences of unique red and red-31 are on a par. However, they can
also point out that as soon as the roses are taken away, Mary (by hypothesis) will be left
with the ability to remember and imagine unique red, but not red-31, and predict that,
once this is realized, the intuition that she possesses equal knowledge of what it's like to
have those experiences will fade.
It's true that if we take the ability to recognize or reidentify some property as necessary
for having a (type) phenomenal concept of it, then these concepts constitute what may
seem to be an odd amalgam of the coarse- and fine-grained. But once again, this result,
though perhaps surprising, should not be damaging to physicalism. If we're to take
psychology seriously in developing an account of phenomenal concepts—and of knowing
what it's like—then these asymmetries are just the facts of life. And they should not be all
that surprising, since there are many other familiar cases (smell, touch) in which the
differences we can discriminate among various physical stimuli imperfectly reflect the
differences that, from a physical point of view, there are. 18
In addition, though the experiences we can discriminate in introspection will always
outstrip the properties for which we can have type-demonstrative concepts, it's also a
psychological fact that we can increase the range of these concepts, at least to some
degree, through various sorts of instruction and practice. For example,
end p.96

people who have taken a course in music appreciation or wine tasting are able to
recognize, or identify consistently, sounds or tastes that they were never able to recognize
before, despite being able to discriminate them in simultaneous presentation. It seems
natural to describe what people get from these courses as increased knowledge of music
or wine (or, focusing now on the correlative experiences, as increased first-person
knowledge of various sounds or tastes). But if the ability to discriminate among items (or
experiences) with different properties, when presented simultaneously, itself counts as
having substantive knowledge, or cognitive grasp, of those properties, it's hard to
describe what these people have learned. 19 For this reason, too, the intuition that merely
having, and being aware of, an experience provides substantive knowledge of the
property experienced can be dispelled.
Antiphysicalists may suggest that they're better equipped to offer an account of how we
can have substantive knowledge of what it's like to see red-31 (or first-person cognitive
grasp of red-31), since the relation between phenomenal concepts and nonphysical
properties can be tighter than the mere causal and dispositional relations between
concepts and properties available to physicalists. If phenomenal properties are
nonphysical, that is, they can be grasped in all their determinacy by a single act of
looking in, and thus with one attentive look we can have full knowledge of them. And
some physicalists may be tempted to match this suggestion by reconstructing a
physicalistic version of whatever cognitive relation the dualists claim that we bear to our
phenomenal states. As mentioned before, various theorists have suggested that we are
“acquainted” with our phenomenal states, or that tokens of phenomenal properties
themselves “partially constitute” our concepts of them, or that we possess a concept-
forming mechanism that somehow “quotes” these property-tokens themselves when we
think about them.
Physicalists, however, should resist these suggestions. First, they are metaphorical, and
it's doubtful that any physicalistically acceptable version of them will satisfy dualists
because the mechanisms invoked can be described in physicalistic language to the likes
of Mary without giving her the phenomenal concepts in question. Second, they are
unnecessary, since it's quite unclear that, on reflection, we would retain the conviction
that we have substantive knowledge of what it's like to see red-31. As I've stressed
already, there are many cases in which we can learn to recognize features of our
experience that we couldn't reidentify before, and it seems natural to describe this as
learning more about the properties in question. This belies the claim that we routinely
acquire full knowledge of those properties at just one glance. And, as I've also stressed,
any effects of our awareness of experiences produced by shades like the red-31 of a
presented rose quickly fade when the rose is removed from sight, thus making it hard to
hold that we know what it's like to see red-31 in any substantive sense. In short, on closer
scrutiny, there is little intuitive support for the view that Mary has substantive knowledge
of what it's like to see shades such as red-31.
However, there's a further question, namely, whether seeing colors for the first time gives
Mary a richer mine of knowledge about color experience than can plausibly be explained
by her acquisition of a new set of type-demonstrative concepts. Dualists, of course, have
raised this question, but so have a number of physicalists. For example, in an earlier work
(2002), I suggested that the only plausible way to explain Mary's acquisition of
knowledge as the acquisition of new phenomenal concepts is to treat phenomenal
concepts as hybrids with both recognitional and functional elements; that is, as relational
descriptions of quality spaces with “slots” reserved for type-demonstratives that are
normally acquired by having the experiences in question. On this view, in her black-and-
white room Mary learns that color experiences occupy certain places in a quality space,
and when she steps out of the room and sees colors, she acquires the demonstratives to
fill the slots. But because phenomenal concepts are in part relational, when Mary applies
them in introspection to her own experiences, she is afforded knowledge of the rich
relational network in which these (demonstrated) experiences are embedded—which is
why it seems that she learns so much when she finally leaves her room. 20
It seems to me now, however, that a pure type-demonstrative view can give an analogous
account of this phenomenon. To see this, let's examine what goes on when people come,
through instruction and practice, to increase the range of their phenomenal concepts. For
example, people who have taken a course in music appreciation or wine tasting will
report that they are now able to recognize, or identify consistently, sounds or tastes that
they were never able to recognize before. 21 My aim, in the next section, is to ask what
this training or instruction might involve, and what consequences it may have for our
views about phenomenal concepts and “knowing what it's like.”
Increasing Our Stock of Phenomenal Concepts
As I see it, there are two (broadly characterizable) ways our recognitional abilities could
be enhanced. The first involves the assimilation and application of explicit theoretical
information about just where in our color quality space a certain target shade lies. 22
Suppose, for example, that when a number of colors are presented
end p.98

simultaneously, the person seeing them is taught to describe or think of red-31 as “the
shade closer to unique red (along some dimension) than red-32”—and then perhaps as
“the shade n jnd steps from unique red.” On this approach, an individual attempting to
expand her range of color concepts can be seen as attempting to reidentify the experience
of a certain target shade of red (red-31, say) by consciously applying information she has
learned about its position in color quality space to her current experience. That is, she
may eventually come to recognize a new instance of red-31 as the same shade she
focused on before by imagining or remembering an experience of unique red (which is,
by hypothesis, easy and natural for everyone), and comparing it to her current experience.
(This is the sort of thing, I take it, that's often taught in wine-tasting courses: one is first
given a wine with some easily identifiable taste, and then shown how to compare it to
others that differ along various dimensions.) To do this, of course, she'd not only have to
know that red-31 is, say, six jnd steps away from unique red, but also be able to
remember or imagine the experience of unique red and the interval scale between unique
red and red-31. 23
Now suppose that someone gets good at this procedure, and becomes able to reidentify
the experience of red-31 consistently, without having to haul out this explicit comparative
information or those imagined paradigms. Such things do happen, after all. Music
appreciation and wine-tasting classes can, at least sometimes, provide people with the
ability to home in, quickly and smoothly, on experiences they were incapable of
reidentifying (and thus having type-demonstrative concepts of ) before. In such cases, I
suggest, the subject is deploying new type-demonstrative concepts.
One might suspect that the reidentifications one learns to make in this way depend on
association or inference, and thus couldn't be epistemically “direct” enough to count as
the deployment of type-demonstrative concepts. But this need not be so. There are many
familiar cases—distinctive kinds of vegetation, fabrics, styles of painting, or even
unusual shapes—in which it takes time and instruction to acquire the ability to reidentify
various phenomena, and thus the type-demonstrative concepts of those phenomena. In
these cases, one might use association or inference to draw conclusions about the way
things are from the way they seem: fabrics that feel like this are likely to be silk;
paintings that look that way are likely to be Cezannes. But in acquiring the recognitional
concepts themselves, one isn't using inference, but merely learning to attend to whatever
distinctive features there are of the way things seem that qualify them as seeming that
way. 24
end p.99

Can such concepts refer without introducing a new mode of presentation, given that they
are, at least initially, informed by the explicit comparisons I described above? Yes, I
suggest, under certain conditions. Concepts acquired as I've described might be taken to
determine their referents in a way that is part demonstrative and part discursive; that is,
they may be taken to refer to whatever property in fact bears the relevant relation to some
paradigm—whether or not the subject using the concept would identify that property as
the kind she had in mind. In this case, the concept wouldn't be a pure type-demonstrative
concept (though it may include a demonstrative element). However, if the reference of
the concept is determined solely by the subject's disposition to reidentify items as another
one of those, then it should count as a pure type-demonstrative concept, regardless of how
much explicit comparison, or other application of theory, was involved in its acquisition.
In such a case the explicit information will be solely of heuristic value; it will shape a
recognitional ability that by itself determines the referential reach of its associated (pure)
type-demonstrative concept. 25
If theoretical information of the sort I've discussed figures in the acquisition and
deployment of pure demonstrative concepts in this way, then physicalists can make the
following claims. First, what someone gains from experience, in coming to know what
it's like to have it, is—as the type-demonstrative theorists suggest—a new set of concepts
distinct from any that she already possesses, and which denote directly, on the model of
demonstratives, without needing to invoke metaphysically suspicious modes of
presentation. And second, in at least some (and maybe most) cases, one has to know a lot
about the properties in question, in particular their interrelations with others in the
relevant quality space, to acquire the concepts—a phenomenon that accounts for the
intuition that what one gains in knowing what it's like to see red or feel pain is interesting
and substantial. So if this view of how we acquire new type-demonstrative concepts is
plausible, the physicalist may be able to have it both ways: phenomenal concepts can
have the referential role of type-demonstratives, but their acquisition may still require a
person to know a lot about the interrelations among the properties they denote.
But one may object that this view is not plausible in the least. What happens when we
acquire new recognitional concepts is something much less cognitively complex,
something that doesn't require anything like these explicit comparisons or other
applications of theory that I've described. What goes on in wine-tasting or music
appreciation classes—let alone what goes on when our recognitional
end p.100

dispositions are “naturally” shaped and enhanced by our interactions with the world—is
closer to a “paradigm-foil” model of generalization learning than to anything I've
described here.
That is, even in getting explicit instruction in how to reidentify a color or taste or sound,
one is shown an example of the target item (and perhaps a foil that's quite different along
a certain dimension) and is told, when one tries to generalize to further instances, whether
or not one did so correctly—without being told just why one's attempt to generalize was
correct or incorrect. In this case, one could increase one's range of recognitional abilities,
and thus phenomenal concepts, without appeal to any explicit comparisons or other
theoretical information at all.
Maybe this is a more reasonable view of how recognitional abilities are enhanced by
instruction and practice. And maybe it's also a reasonable view of how we “naturally”—
that is, without explicit instruction—come to recognize items in the world as belonging to
one or another kind (and even, I suspect, of how innate proclivities to generalize may
have been shaped by selective pressures).
If so, however, then the smooth deployment of type-demonstrative concepts would still
require a significant amount of knowledge on the part of the subjects who deploy them.
This wouldn't be explicit knowledge of the salient features of the items recognized as
“one of that kind,” or even of the similarities and differences between that kind and
others, but rather the implicit knowledge of these similarities and differences that shaped
(by the paradigm-foil method) the recognitional dispositions in question. Nonetheless,
possession of these recognitional dispositions—and thus the (type-demonstrative)
phenomenal concepts they determine—brings a lot to the table. In fact, it brings enough,
I'd venture, to explain how Mary, in acquiring such dispositions after leaving her black-
and-white room, manages to know so much. 26
end p.101

But even if the type-demonstrative view can account for the richness of Mary's
knowledge of what it's like to see colors, there are other arguments against physicalism
that need to be addressed, in particular, the “conceivability” arguments that depend on
two-dimensional semantics, and the “distinct property argument,” which, if anything, has
increased in subtlety since being posed to Smart by Max Black. 27
Zombies, Primary Intensions, and Modes of Presentation
Ever since Jackson (1993, 1998) and Chalmers (1996) introduced their versions of two-
dimensional semantics, 28 and Chalmers (1996) used it to argue against physicalism, this
framework and the argument it appears to support have become central to the debate.
Briefly, Chalmers takes the two-dimensional framework to provide a well-grounded
explanation of why our ability to conceive of apparent counterexamples to identity
statements (for example, to “H 2 O = water”) does not show that these statements fail to
express necessary truths. However, he argues, this explanation does not carry over to the
case of phenomenal-physical identities. Thus, if we can conceive of zombies, we have no
recourse but to conclude that they are possible, and thus that the “what it's like” of
various experiences cannot be identified with physical properties. 29 I'll summarize both
framework and argument as economically as possible, sketch the demonstrative theorists'
response, and indicate some ways in which the focus of the debate has changed since
Chalmers's initial presentation.

According to two-dimensional semantics, the meaning or intension of a term or concept


is to be identified with a two-dimensional function (from possible worlds to denotations).
The primary intension of a concept is a function that determines its extension in any
world w (holding constant the way in which the reference of that concept is fixed in the
actual world) if w is “considered as actual”—that is, if we assume that the way things are
in w is the way things turned out to be in the actual world. The secondary intension of a
concept, in contrast, is a function that determines the extension of the concept, in any
world w, if w is “considered as counterfactual”—that is, if we assume that the actual
world is just the way it is. 30
As should be clear, the primary and secondary intensions of natural kind concepts such as
“water” diverge. In worlds “considered as actual,” a concept such as “water” will pick out
whatever has the same essential properties as the stuff people in those worlds identify (by
appeal to its qualitative properties) as “water.” Since these essential properties are
microstructural, the primary intension of “water” assigns it H 2 O here, XYZ on Twin
Earth, and, in general, whatever meets these qualitative criteria in that world. 31 But in
“worlds considered as counterfactual,” “water” will always pick out H 2 O, given that we
understand it to denote (rigidly) just those substances that are microphysically similar to
the stuff it denotes here. This explains why we can conceive of H 2 O without water, even
though it's a necessary truth that water is H 2 O; what we're conceiving is a world,
considered as actual, in which “water” picks out some substance which, though
qualitatively like our water, is not H 2 O.
But this explanation will not work, Chalmers (2003) argues, for what he calls our “pure”
phenomenal concepts of experience. Just as with natural kind concepts, we understand
the primary intensions of these pure phenomenal concepts to pick out, in each world,
whatever has the same nature or essence as the experiences we identify by appeal to their
qualitative characteristics. But in contrast with natural kind concepts, we take the nature
or essence of these experiences to be those qualitative characteristics themselves. Thus, in
each world, whether considered as actual or as counterfactual, phenomenal concepts pick
out states qualitatively similar to the states we identify in these ways. That is, Chalmers
argues, their primary and secondary intensions coincide. 32 So, he concludes, my ability
to conceive of a zombie can't be explained as my thinking that, in another world
considered as actual, these phenomenal concepts pick out states qualitatively different
from our
end p.103

own, and thus the conceivability of zombies must be taken as evidence of their
possibility. 33
What Chalmers calls “pure” phenomenal concepts have an important role in this
argument, and it's worth getting clear about what they are supposed to be. Chalmers gives
a “negative” characterization of them, as concepts distinct from those phenomenal
concepts whose references are fixed by relations to external objects (e.g., “the kind of
state produced by red things”) and also from demonstrative concepts whose references
are fixed by acts of ostension (“the sort of experience I'm having now”) that could have
picked out different items if the world had been different in various ways. He also gives a
“positive” characterization of them, as concepts that “characterize … the phenomenal
quality as the phenomenal quality that it is” (2003, 226). What seems crucial for his
argument, however—at least at first glance—is that these are concepts for which there is
no room for variation in the values of their primary intensions, concepts whose primary
and secondary intensions coincide.
Suppose, though, that the distinctive referential roles of Chalmers's pure phenomenal
concepts can be played by the special kinds of type-demonstratives that Loar (and others)
take phenomenal concepts to be. Then physicalists could agree with Chalmers that the
primary and secondary intensions of phenomenal concepts coincide, yet nonetheless
invoke their irreducibly first-person or perspectival nature to explain why the
conceivability of zombies does not threaten the identity of phenomenal and physical
states or require there to be nonphysical modes of presentation of the physical states that
phenomenal concepts denote. They would also have an explanation of why phenomenal-
physical identities differ from other cases of inter-theoretic reduction and display an
“explanatory gap”: namely, that only in the phenomenal-physical cases do the concepts in
question have the first-personal, perspectival nature of demonstratives.
Our question, then, is whether type-demonstrative concepts that denote neural properties
can play the distinctive referential role of pure phenomenal concepts. And it seems that
the answer is “yes.” After all, these concepts are intended to pick out their target
properties “directly,” without requiring modes of presentation that could “present” some
other property in another world. Thus if my phenomenal type-demonstrative in fact
denotes neural property N, it seems that it should pick out that same property in all
(centered) worlds considered as actual, no matter what the rest of that world is like. 34
And if this is so, then there is no world in which something could feel like this and not
instantiate property N—or vice versa.
end p.104

It may seem, however, that phenomenal demonstratives can't possibly play the role of
Chalmers's pure phenomenal concepts. Recall his “positive” characterization of them as
concepts that “characterize … the phenomenal quality as the phenomenal quality that it
is.” 35 It's not obvious what this means, but, however it is further articulated, it's clear that
phenomenal type-demonstratives can't meet this condition, given that they aren't
supposed to characterize phenomenal properties as anything at all. 36 Chalmers, later on
in the same discussion (2003, 233), adds that, for pure phenomenal concepts, “the
referent of the concept is somehow present inside the concept's sense, in a way much
stronger than in the usual cases of ‘direct reference.’” This, too, is far from clear. But
however this condition is eventually spelled out, it's unlikely that demonstrative theorists
have the resources to avail themselves of it, since the “way” a referent is “present inside a
concept's sense,” by hypothesis, must be “much stronger” than the “usual cases” of direct
reference, in which reference is determined by the causal (and dispositional) relations the
subject has to the item denoted.
Some physicalists, as already noted, have attempted to rise to the challenge by suggesting
that phenomenal demonstratives must “quote,” or be “partially constituted by,” their
referents, 37 but, once again, I believe this is futile. Physicalists, after all, have access only
to materials such as causation, reliable correlation, and relations of physical inclusion or
adjacency to reconstruct this notion of “presence,” and these, being “objective,” will
prompt the same questions initially asked about Mary. 38 That is, dualists will surely
object that Mary, in her black-and-white room, could know all these things about the
relation of normal people's phenomenal concepts of red to the property of phenomenal
red—and still not know what it's like to see red. Indeed. So why not stop the explanation
earlier: if physicalists are convinced that treating phenomenal concepts as type-
demonstratives can answer questions about Mary, the conceivability of zombies, and the
explanatory gap, then they should reject the claim that phenomenal concepts require
some sort of “presence” of, or “acquaintance” with, or “partial constitution” by the
quality denoted, since this claim is backed only by the intuitions that they have already
explained away.
There is a further question, however, that demonstrative theorists must address. Suppose,
as I've claimed, that phenomenal type-demonstratives are concepts whose primary and
secondary intensions coincide. But according to most theories of reference, so are
scientific concepts such as “neural state N,” since these concepts, in worlds considered
either as actual or counterfactual, seem capable of denoting
end p.105

only the neural states in question. 39 Now consider an identity statement such as “this
(pointing in, under the appropriate conditions) = neural state N.” Such a statement should
have a necessary primary intension; that is, it should be true in all worlds considered as
actual. However, Chalmers (2006) argues explicitly that an identity statement S has a
necessary primary intension if, and only if, it is a priori, and it's clear that a statement
such as the one mentioned above is not a priori. This worry is analogous to the one
directed to a stronger version of the distinct property argument, recently presented by
White (1999, this volume, chap. 11) in which distinct properties are taken to be required
for accounting not merely for how physical and phenomenal concepts could denote the
same property, but for how people could rationally doubt whether experiences are neural
states.
Chalmers's argument, briefly, is that if S is not a priori, then it's conceivable—that is,
epistemically possible—that S is false, and thus there is a possible world that verifies ˜S,
and so S can't have a necessary primary intension. But now we are back to familiar
territory: Physicalists who endorse the demonstrative account argue that in cases
involving phenomenal concepts, a world that's conceivable (epistemically possible) need
not be possible, and they point to the conceptual irreducibility of demonstratives as an
explanation of why this is so. Antiphysicalists counter that a response like this makes a
special exception for phenomenal-physical identities, since in all other cases of
theoretical identity statements, the epistemic possibility of an entity that satisfies one
term, but not the other, is evidence against the identity. And physicalists respond that it's
unfair to demand that a theory that acknowledges and explains the existence of a special
“explanatory gap” in the case of phenomenal-physical identities should also be required
to close it. Traversing this familiar territory, of course, may lead to a familiar impasse,
but this, I'm afraid, goes with the territory traversed. 40
end p.106

There is a final worry about whether phenomenal concepts can be regarded as


introspectively deployed type-demonstratives, namely, that it seems possible for me to
use a type-demonstrative “that (kind of experience)” to ostend the same phenomenal
property twice in quick succession—or even simultaneously—and yet have reason to
doubt whether that is (the same property as) that. Hawthorne (chap. 10, this volume)
presents a compelling example. Suppose a subject is told by scientists that the qualia on
the right side of her visual field may “dance”—that is, shift from red to green—without
her knowledge, during a certain time period. This subject, at least arguably, would thus
have reason to doubt that this (pointing in to a reddish quale on the left) = this
(simultaneously pointing in to a reddish quale on the right), even when she's inclined to
assert this and it's true. 41 This is reason, it may seem, for thinking that the subject must
be using two distinct concepts—that is, concepts that denote via distinct modes of
presentation, for otherwise there's no explanation of how she could rationally doubt that
“that = that” is true. 42
Physicalists, however, can reply that not every case in which one can rationally doubt a
true identity statement of the form “x = y” is a case in which “x” and “y” denote their
referents via distinct modes of presentation. In particular, a subject's “rational doubt” in a
scenario like Hawthorne's can be shown to have different grounds and thus pose no threat
to physicalism. Consider once again the scenario in question, in which a subject,
attentively introspecting, twice deploys a type-demonstrative, but is told by an
experimenter that her qualia may shift without her knowledge. And consider for a
moment just how unusual such a situation would be. The subject, by hypothesis, is
employing one type-demonstrative concept twice, which means that she is twice picking
out a property which she is disposed to reidentify. In addition, she is deploying her
concepts simultaneously, or in quick succession—and is paying attention. But she's told
by an authority that the qualia on one side of her visual field may shift without her
knowledge. Given all this, her “rational doubt” can be attributed to the fact that her
normal introspective confidence has been challenged by someone whom she thinks it
rational to trust, and not to a difference in how the denoted property is “mediated” or
“presented” on these occasions. That is, the subject could be wondering whether, despite
her stable inclination to classify her experience-tokens as experiences of the same kind—
that is, despite the fact that she seems to be using the same type-demonstrative
concepts—she could nonetheless, for some arcane reason, be wrong, and thus be using
different concepts.

The mistake that it's possible for a rational subject to make, on this account, would be
metalinguistic (or metaconceptual), and it may seem epistemically odd that introspecting
subjects can be mistaken about whether they're using the same concepts in their thoughts
about their own phenomenal states. But when concept difference and identity are
determined “externally”—that is, by the features of what's denoted—this shouldn't be
unexpected, even when the subject matter is one's own mental states. 43 This consequence
may further motivate the attempt to make the relation between phenomenal concepts and
denoted properties “closer” than possible on the pure demonstrative view, by requiring
concepts to provide “acquaintance” with the properties they denote, or to “quote” them,
or to be “partially constituted” by these properties. But, again, none of these strategies
will help physicalists because no account of these relations that is consistent with
physicalism can ensure that subjects, in thinking that their concepts pick out repeatable
properties (as opposed, perhaps, to tokens, or instances, of phenomenal properties), must
be correct. Physicalists, however, should be perfectly sanguine about this lack of
infallibility, for, once again, it goes with the territory.
Does this entail that “that = that,” if true, is true a priori? No. As I've noted above, one
doesn't have to claim that a statement is a priori to claim that its constituent terms
converge in their primary intentions, and this is the only claim that the physicalist who is
a demonstrative theorist needs. 44 In short, what physicalists need, and demonstrative
theorists provide, is an account that individuates concepts by appeal to the properties
demonstrated—that is, their contents. This provides whatever it takes to give them the
same primary intension in all possible worlds, and for their primary and secondary
intensions to coincide. They don't need any “closer” relation between concept and
property, which, once again, is fortunate, since physicalistic versions of “constitution” or
“acquaintance” are unlikely to do the job.
Thus, it seems as if the demonstrative view can account for the conceivability of zombies,
the worries about distinct modes of presentation, and the richness of Mary's knowledge,
and can narrow the explanatory gap while explaining why it can't be completely closed.
Is it therefore a satisfactory view of phenomenal concepts? At the beginning of this
chapter, I suggested that it may need reinforcement
end p.108

by a functional account to deal with what Block (2002) has called the “harder problem”
of conscious experience. But this is (at least arguably) a harder problem—for which we
can only begin to do the groundwork here.

Acknowledgments

I presented an early version of parts of this chapter at the University of California–


Riverside in November 2001. I thank audiences there for helpful comments, and I am
especially grateful to Eric Switzgebel. A later version was presented to the Chalmers/Hoy
NEH seminar in July 2002. There I had a tremendously helpful discussion with many
participants; I am particularly grateful to Dave Chalmers and Joseph Levine for their
comments and suggestions. I'm also indebted to Brian Loar, who has discussed these
issues with me over many years—and whose views I hope I'm not misrepresenting here.
Finally, I want to thank Sven Walter and Torin Alter, whose suggestions and guidance
led to many improvements in this chapter's substance and style.
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end p.110

seven Phenomenal and Perceptual Concepts


Papineau David
Phenomenal concepts are common coin among nearly all contemporary philosophers
working on consciousness. They are recognized both by ontological dualists, who take
them to refer to distinctive nonmaterial (phenomenal) properties, and by the majority of
contemporary materialists, who respond that phenomenal concepts are distinctive only at
a conceptual level and refer to nothing except material properties that can also be referred
to using nonphenomenal material concepts.
In speaking of the majority of contemporary materialists, I have in mind the school of
thought that David Chalmers (2003a) has dubbed “type-B physicalism.” In effect, type-B
physicalism is a concession to the classic antimaterialist arguments of Frank Jackson
(1986) and Saul Kripke (1972). Older (type-A) physicalists took all concepts of
conscious states to be functional concepts—that is, concepts that referred by association
with causal roles. Because of this, they denied the initial premises of Jackson's and
Kripke's arguments. In response to Jackson's “Mary” argument, they argued that any
functional concepts of conscious states would have been available to Mary before she left
her room, so that there was no sense in which she acquired any new knowledge of “what
it is like” to see something as red. In a related move, they responded to Kripke's argument
by insisting that it was inconceivable, and thus obviously impossible, that a being could
be fully physically identical to humans and yet lack consciousness. However, these
responses to Jackson and Kripke are now widely agreed to be unsatisfactory. It seems
clear that the preemergence Mary does lack some concepts of color experiences and,
moreover, that zombies are at least conceivable. By recognizing phenomenal concepts,
type-B physicalists aim to concede this much to Jackson and Kripke. At the same time,
they argue that once we do recognize phenomenal concepts, then we can see that the
subsequent stages of Jackson's and Kripke's arguments do not provide a valid route to
ontologically dualist conclusions (cf. Loar 1990/97; Papineau 2002, chaps. 2 and 3).
What is the nature of phenomenal concepts? Here there is far less consensus. Among
those who trade in phenomenal concepts, some take them to be sui generis
end p.111

(Tye 2003, Chalmers 2003b), whereas others have variously likened them to
recognitional concepts (Loar 1990/97), to demonstratives (Horgan 1984, Papineau 1993a,
Perry 2001), or to quotational terms (Papineau 2002, Balog 2002).
In my Thinking about Consciousness (2002), I developed a “quotational-indexical”
account of phenomenal concepts along roughly the following lines. To have a
phenomenal concept of some experience, you must be able introspectively to focus on it
when you have it, and to re-create it imaginatively at other times; given these abilities,
you can then form terms with the structure the experience: —, in which the gap is filled
either by a current experience or by an imaginative re-creation of an experience; these
terms then constitute a distinctive way of referring to the experience at issue.
In that book, I argued that this account of phenomenal concepts not only allows a
satisfactory materialist response to Jackson's and Kripke's arguments but also explains
why dualism seems so compelling even to those unfamiliar with those arguments.
According to my analysis, we all experience a basic “intuition of mind-brain
distinctness,” which is prior to any philosophical investigation (and indeed which lends a
spurious plausibility to the standard antimaterialist arguments, by independently adding
credibility to their conclusions). However, once we understand the structure of
phenomenal concepts, I argued, we can see how this intuition arises and why it provides
no real reason to doubt materialism.
In this chapter, I want to return to the topic of phenomenal concepts. It now seems to me
that the treatment in Thinking about Consciousness was inadequate in various respects.
Here I want to try to improve on that account. In particular, I shall develop an extended
comparison of phenomenal concepts with what I shall call “perceptual concepts,” hoping
thereby to throw the nature of phenomenal concepts into clearer focus.
Though the position I develop in this chapter will involve some significant revisions of
the claims made in my book, I think that the main arguments in the book are robust with
respect to these revisions. In particular, the responses to Jackson and Kripke stand pretty
much as before, and an explanation of the persistent “intuition of distinctness” continues
to be available.
The revised account also enables me to deal with a common worry about phenomenal
concepts. 1 Suppose Mary has come out of her room, seen a red rose, and as a result
acquired a phenomenal concept of the experience of seeing something red (though she
may not yet know that this experience is conventionally so-called). On most accounts of
phenomenal concepts, including the one developed in my book, any exercise of this
phenomenal concept will demand the presence of the experience itself or an
imaginatively re-created exemplar thereof. The trouble, however, is that it seems quite
possible for Mary to think truly, using her new phenomenal concept, I am not now having
that experience (nor re-creating it in myimagination)—but this would be ruled out if any
exercise of her phenomenal concept did indeed depend on the presence of the experience
or its imaginative re-creation. The revised account of phenomenal concepts developed
here does not require this, and so can explain Mary's problematic thought.
The rest of this chapter contains four sections. The next two analyze perceptual and
phenomenal concepts, respectively. The penultimate section checks that my revised
account of phenomenal concepts will still serve to block the standard arguments for
dualism. The final section defends my position against a recent argument by David
Chalmers against the whole type-B strategy of defending physicalism by appeal to
phenomenal concepts.

Perceptual Concepts

Perceptual Concepts Are Not Demonstrative

Let me turn away from phenomenal concepts for a while and instead consider perceptual
concepts. Getting clear about perceptual concepts will stand us in good stead when we
turn to the closely related category of phenomenal concepts.
We can start with this kind of case. You see a bird at the bottom of your garden. You
look at it closely, and at the same time think, I haven't seen that in here before. Later on,
you can recall the bird in visual imagination, perhaps thinking, I wonder if that was a
migrant. In addition, on further perceptual encounters with birds, you sometimes take
some bird to be the same bird again, and you can again form further thoughts about it,
such as that bird has a pleasant song. (Let me leave open for the moment whether you are
thinking of a particular bird or a type of bird; I shall return to this shortly.)
In examples of this sort, I shall say that subjects are exercising perceptual concepts.
Perceptual concepts allow subjects to think about perceptible entities. Such concepts are
formed when subjects initially perceive the relevant entities, and they are reactivated by
later perceptual encounters. Subjects can also use these concepts to think imaginatively
about those entities even when the entities are not present.
It is tempting to view concepts of this kind as “demonstrative.” For one thing, it is natural
to express these concepts using demonstrative words, as the above examples show (e.g.,
“… that …”). Moreover, uses of perceptual concepts involve a kind of perceptual
attention or imaginative focus, and this can seem analogous to the overt pointing or other
indicative acts that accompany the use of verbal demonstratives.
However, I think it is quite wrong to classify perceptual concepts as demonstratives. If
anything is definitive of demonstrative terms, it is surely that they display some species
of characterlikeness. By this I mean that the referential value of the term depends on
context: the selfsame term will refer to different items in different contexts. However,
there seems nothing characterlike about the kind of perceptual concept illustrated in the
above examples. Whenever it is exercised, your perceptual concept refers to the same
bird. When you use the concept in question, you don't refer to one bird on the first
encounter, yet some possibly different bird
end p.113

when later encountering or visually imagining it. Your concept picks out the same bird
whenever it is exercised.
It is possible to be distracted from this basic point by failing to distinguish clearly
between perceptual concepts and their linguistic expression. If I want to express some
perceptual thought in language, then there may be no alternative to the use of
demonstrative words. In order to convey my thought to you, I may well say, “That bird
has a pleasant song,” while indicating some nearby bird. And I agree that the words here
used—“that bird”—are demonstrative, in that they will refer to different birds in different
contexts of use. But this does not mean that my concept itself is demonstrative. As I have
just urged, my concept itself will refer to the same bird whenever it is exercised.
The reason we often resort to demonstrative words to convey thoughts involving
nondemonstrative perceptual concepts is simply that there is often no publicly established
linguistic term to express our concept. In such cases, we can nevertheless often get our
ideas across by demonstratively indicating some instance of what we are thinking about.
Of course, this possibility assumes that some such instance is available to be
demonstrated—if there isn't, then we may simply find ourselves unable to express what
we are thinking to an audience.
By insisting that perceptual concepts are not demonstrative, even if the words used to
express them are, I do not necessarily want to exclude characterlikeness from every
aspect of the mental realm. Millikan (1990) has argued that mental indexicality plays no
ineliminable role in the explanation of action, against Perry (1979) and much current
orthodoxy, and I find her case on this particular point persuasive. Even so, I am open to
the possibility that primitive mental demonstratives may play some role in preconceptual
attention (e.g., what was that?) and also to the possibility that there may be characterlike
mental terms constructed with the help of predicates (e.g., I'm frightened of that dog—
meaning the dog in the corner of the room). 2 In both these kinds of case I allow that the
italicized expressions may express genuinely characterlike mental terms—that is,
repeatable mental terms that have different referents on different occasions of use. My
claim in this section has only been that perceptual concepts in particular are not
characterlike in this sense but carry the same referent with them from one occasion of use
to another.

Perceptual Concepts as Stored Templates

I take perceptual concepts to involve a phylogenetically old mode of thought that is


common to both humans and animals. We can helpfully think of perceptual concepts as
involving stored sensory templates. These templates will be set up on initial encounters
with the relevant referents. They will then be reactivated on later perceptual encounters,
via matches between incoming stimuli and stored templates—
end p.114

perhaps the incoming stimuli can be thought of as “resonating” with the stored patterns
and thereby being amplified. Such stored templates can also be activated autonomously
even in the absence of any such incoming stimuli—these will then constitute
“imaginative” exercises of perceptual concepts. 3
The function of the templates is to accumulate information about the relevant referents
and thereby guide the subject's future interactions with them. We can suppose that
various items of information about the referent will become attached to the template as a
result of the subject's experience. When the perceptual concept is activated, these items of
information will be activated, too. They may include features of the referent displayed in
previous encounters. Or they may simply comprise behavioral information in the form of
practical knowledge that certain responses are appropriate to the presence of the referent.
When the referent is reencountered, the subject will thus not only perceive it as presently
located at a certain position in egocentric space, but will also take it to possess certain
features that were manifested in previous encounters, but may not yet be manifested in
the reencounter. Imaginative exercises of perceptual concepts may further allow subjects
to process information about the referent even when it is not present.
Note how this function of carrying information from one use to another highlights the
distinction between perceptual concepts and demonstratives. Demonstrative terms do not
so carry a body of information with them, for the obvious reason that they refer to
different entities on different occasions of use. Information about an entity referred to by
a demonstrative on one occasion will not in general apply to whatever entity happens to
be the referent the next time the demonstrative is used. By contrast, perceptual concepts
are suited to serve as repositories of information precisely because they refer to the same
thing whenever they are exercised.

Perceptual Semantics

I have said that perceptual concepts refer to perceptible entities. However, what exactly
determines this relation between perceptual concepts, conceived as stored sensory
templates, and their referents? In particular, what determines whether such a concept
refers to a type or a token? I suggested earlier that you might look at a bird, form some
stored sensory template, and then use it to think either about that particular bird or about
its species. But what decides between these two referents? At first pass, it seems that just
the same sensory template might be pressed into either service.
Some philosophers think of perceptual concepts as “recognitional concepts” (Loar
1990/97). This terminology suggests that perceptual concepts should be viewed as
referring to whichever entities their possessors would recognize as satisfying them. A
stored sensory template will refer to the entity that will activate it when encountered. If
none but some particular bird will activate some template, then that
end p.115

particular bird is the referent. If any member of a bird species will activate a template,
then the species is the referent.
This recognitional account would serve adequately for most of the further purposes of
this chapter. But in fact it is a highly unsatisfactory account of perceptual reference. Now
that I have raised this topic, I would like to digress briefly and explain how we can do
better.
First, let me briefly point out the flaws in the recognitional account. For a start, it's not
clear that recognitional abilities are fine-grained enough to make the referential
distinctions we want. Could not two people have just the same sensory template and so be
disposed to recognize just the same instances, and yet one be thinking about a particular
bird, and the other about the species? It is not obvious, to say the least, that my inability
to discriminate perceptually between the bird in my garden and its conspecifics means
that I must be thinking about the whole species rather than my particular bird. Nor,
conversely, is it obvious that I must be thinking of my bird rather than its species if I
mistakenly take some idiosyncratic marking of my bird to be a characteristic of the
species. In any case, the equation of referential value with recognitional range faces the
familiar problem that it seems to exclude any possibility of misrecognition: if the referent
of my perceptual concept is that entity which includes all the items I recognize as
satisfying the concept, then there is no room left for me to misapply the concept
perceptually. However, this isn't what we want—far from guaranteeing infallibility,
possession of perceptual concepts seems consistent with very limited recognitional
abilities.
I think we will do better to approach reference by focusing on the function of perceptual
concepts rather than their actual use. As I explained in the last subsection, the point of
perceptual concepts is to accumulate information about certain entities and make it
available for future encounters. Given this, we can think of the referential value of a
perceptual concept as that entity which the perceptual concept has the function of
accumulating information about. Give or take a bit, this will depend on two factors: the
origin of the perceptual concept, and the kind of information that gets attached to it.
Let me take the second factor first. Note that the kind of information that it is appropriate
to carry from one encounter to another will vary, depending on what sort of entity is at
issue. 4 For example, if I see that some bird has a missing claw, then I should expect this
to hold on other encounters with that particular bird, but not across encounters with other
members of that species. By contrast, if I see that a bird eats seeds, then this information
is appropriately carried over to other members of the species. The point is that different
sorts of information are projectible across encounters with different types of entity. If you
are thinking about some metal, you can project melting point from one sample to another,
but you can't do the same thing with the shape of the samples. If you are thinking about
some species of shellfish, you can project shape but not size. If you are thinking about
individual humans, you can project ability to speak French, but not shirt color. And so on.
end p.116

Given this, we can think of the referents of perceptual concepts as determined inter alia
by what sort of information the subject is disposed to attach to those concepts. If the
subject is disposed to attach particular-bird-appropriate information, then the concept
refers to a particular bird, whereas if the subject is disposed to attach bird-species-
appropriate information, then reference is to a species. In general, we can suppose that
the concept refers to an instance of that kind to which the sort of information
accumulated is appropriate.
To make this suggestion more graphic, we might think of the templates corresponding to
perceptual concepts as being manufactured with a range of “slots” ready to be filled by
certain items of information. Thus a particular-bird-concept will have slots for bodily
injuries and other visible abnormalities; a particular-person-concept will have slots for
languages spoken; a metal-concept will have a slot for melting point; and so on. Which
slots are present will then determine which kind of entity is at issue.
The actual referent will then generally be whichever instance of that kind was responsible
for originating the perceptual concept. As a rule, we can suppose that the purpose of any
perceptual concept is to accumulate information about the item (of the relevant kind) that
was responsible for its formation. This explains why there is a gap between referential
value and recognitional range. I may not be particularly good at recognizing some entity.
But if that entity is the source of my concept, then the concept's function is still to
accumulate information about it.
Of course, if some perceptual concept comes to be regularly and systematically triggered
by some entity other than its original source, and, as a result, information derived from
this new entity comes to eclipse information about the original source, then no doubt the
concept should come to be counted as referring to the new entity rather than the original
source. But this special case does not undermine the point that a perceptual concept will
normally refer to its origin, rather than to whichever entities we happen to recognize as
fitting it.
Now that I have explained how it is possible for perceptual concepts to refer differentially
to both particular tokens and general types, some readers may be wondering how things
will work with subjects who have perceptual concepts both for some token and its type—
for example, suppose that I have a perceptual concept both for some particular parrot and
for its species. To deal with cases like this, we need to think of perceptual concepts as
forming structured hierarchies. When someone has perceptual concepts both for a token
and its type, the former will add perceptual detail to the latter, so to speak. The same will
also apply when subjects have concepts of some determinate (mallard, say) of some
determinable type (duck). In line with this, when some more detailed perceptual concept
is activated, then so will any more general perceptual concepts that cover it, but not vice
versa. Since any items of information that attach to the more general concepts will also
apply to the more specific instances, this will work as it should, giving us any generic
information about the case at hand along with any case-specific information.
Before proceeding, let me make it clear how I am thinking about the relationship between
perceptual concepts and conscious perceptual experience. I want to equate conscious
perceptual experiences with the activation of perceptual concepts, ascribable either to
exogenous stimulation or to endogenous imagination. This does not necessarily mean that
all activations of perceptual concepts are conscious. There may be states that fit the
specifications of perceptual concepts given so far, but whose activations are too low-level
to constitute conscious states—early stages of visual processing, say. My assumption will
be only that there is some range of perceptual concepts whose activations constitute
conscious perceptual experience. 5 In line with this, I shall restrict the term “perceptual
experience” to these cases—that is, I shall use “experience” in a way that implies
consciousness. In addition, I shall also assume that the phenomenology of these states
goes with the sensory templates involved, independently of what information the subject
attaches to those templates or is or is not disposed to attach to them. (So if you and I use
the same sensory pattern to think about a particular bird and a bird species, respectively,
the what-it's-likeness of the resulting experiences will nevertheless be the same.) 6

Perceptually Derived Concepts

The discussion so far has assumed that thoughts involving perceptual concepts will
require that the subject actually be perceiving or imagining. In order for the perceptual
concept to be deployed, the relevant stored template needs either to be activated by a
match with incoming stimuli or to be autonomously activated in imagination. 7
However, now consider this kind of case. You have previously visually encountered
some entity—a particular bird, let us suppose—and have formed a perceptual concept of
that bird. As before, you exercise this perceptual concept when you perceive something
as the same bird again, or when you imagine the bird. However, now suppose that you
think about the bird when it is not present, and without imaginatively re-creating your
earlier perception. You simply think, “That bird must nest near here,” say, without any
accompanying perceptual or imaginative act. I take it that such thoughts are possible. 8
Having earlier established perceptual contact with some entity, you can subsequently
refer to it without the active help
end p.118

of either perception or imagination. I shall say that such references are made via
perceptually derived concepts.
Here is one way to think about this. Initially your information about some referent was
attached to a sensory template. But now you have further created some nonperceptual
“file” in which your store of information about that entity is also housed. This enables
you to think about the entity even when you are not perceiving or imagining it. When you
later activate the file, you automatically refer to the same entity as was referred to when
the file was created. 9
Perhaps the ability to create such nonperceptual files is peculiar to linguistic creatures.
This is not to say that any such file must correspond to a term in a public language: you
can think nonperceptually about things for which you have no name—for example, you
may have no name for the bird that you think nests nearby. Still, it seems likely that the
ability to think nonperceptually evolved with the emergence of language. In this
connection, note that an ability to think about things that you have not perceived, and so
cannot perceptually recognize or imagine, must play an essential part in mastery of a
public language. For public languages are above all mechanisms that allow those who
have firsthand acquaintance with certain items of information to share that information
with others, which means that those who receive such information will often need to
create nonperceptual “files” for entities they have never perceived. By contrast,
languageless creatures will have no channels through which to acquire information about
items beyond their perceptual ambit, and thus will have no need to represent those items
nonperceptually. This provides reason to suppose that the ability to create non-perceptual
“files” arrives only with the emergence of language. If this is right, then only language-
using human beings will be able to transcend perceptual concepts proper by constructing
what I am calling “perceptually derived concepts.” Of course, as noted at the beginning
of this paragraph, humans will also sometimes use this ability to create nonperceptual
“files” that correspond to no word in a public language. But when they do so, they may
well be drawing on an ability that evolved with linguistic capacities.
Perhaps there is an issue about counting concepts here. I have distinguished between
“perceptual concepts” and “perceptually derived concepts.” Do I therefore
end p.119

want to say that a thinker who has constructed a “perceptually derived concept” from a
prior “perceptual concept” now has two concepts that refer to the same thing? From some
perspectives, this might seem like double counting. In particular, it is not clear that the
standard Fregean criterion of cognitive significance will tell us that there are two
concepts here. After all, if the creation of a “perceptually derived concept” is simply a
matter of housing your store of information in a nonperceptual file, and if any
subsequently acquired information about the relevant referent automatically gets attached
to both a sensory template and nonperceptual tag, then it seems that the subject will
always make exactly the same judgments whether using the “perceptual” or “perceptually
derived” concept, and so fail the Frege test for possession of distinct concepts. And this
would suggest that we simply have one concept here, not two, albeit a concept that can be
exercised in two ways—perceptually and nonperceptually. 10
There is no substantial issue here. To the extent that the flow of information between the
two ways of thinking is smooth, the Frege test gives us reason to say that there is only
one concept. On the other hand, to the extent that there are cognitive operations that
distinguish a perceptually derived concept from its originating perceptual concept, there
is a rationale for speaking of two concepts, and I shall do so when this is convenient.

Phenomenal Concepts

The Quotational-Indexical Model

Let me now turn to phenomenal concepts. Recall that my earlier quotational-indexical


model viewed phenomenal concepts as having the structure the experience:—, where the
gap was filled either an actual perceptual experience or an imaginative re-creation
thereof. It now seems to me that this model ran together a good idea with a bad one. The
good idea was to relate phenomenal concepts to perceptual concepts. The bad idea was to
think that phenomenal concepts, along with perceptual ones, are some kind of
“demonstrative.”
Let me first explain the bad idea. Suppose that perceptual concepts were demonstrative,
contrary to my argument above. Then presumably they would be constructions that, on
each occasion of use, referred to whichever item in the external environment was
somehow salient to the subject. By analogy, if phenomenal concepts worked similarly,
then they too would refer to salient items, but in the “internal” conscious environment.
This led me to the idea that phenomenal concepts were somehow akin to the mixed
demonstrative construction that experience. On this model, phenomenal concepts would
employ the same general demonstrative construction (that) as is employed by ordinary
mixed demonstratives, but the qualifier experience would function to direct reference
inward, so to speak, ensuring that some salient element in the conscious realm is picked
out. The “quotational” suggestion then depended on the fact that this demonstrated
experience would itself
end p.120

be present in the realm of conscious thought, unlike the nonmental items referred to by
most demonstratives. This made it seem natural to view phenomenal concepts as
“quoting” their referents, rather than simply referring to distal items. Linguistic quotation
marks, after all, are a species of demonstrative construction: a use of quotation marks will
refer to that word, whatever it is, that happens to be made salient by being placed within
the quotation marks. Similarly, I thought, phenomenal concepts can usefully be thought
of as referring to that experience, whatever it is, that is currently made salient in thought.
However, this now seems to me all wrong. Not only is it motivated by a mistaken view of
perceptual concepts, but it runs into awkward objections about the nature of the notion of
experience used to form the putative construction that experience.
There seem two possible models for the concept of experience employed here. It might
be abstracted from more specific phenomenal concepts (e.g., seeing something red,
smelling roses, and so on); alternatively, it could be some kind of theoretical concept,
constituted by its role in some theory of experiences. However, neither option seems
acceptable.
The obvious objection to the abstraction strategy is that it presupposes such specific
phenomenal concepts as seeing something red, smelling roses, and so on, when it is
supposed to explain them. If we are to acquire a generic concept of experience via first
thinking phenomenally about more specific experiences, and then abstracting a concept
of what they have in common, then it must be possible to think phenomenally about the
more specific experiences prior to developing the generic concept. But if thinking
phenomenally about the more specific experiences requires us already to have the generic
concept, as in the demonstrative account of phenomenal concepts, then we are caught in a
circle.
What if our notion of experience is constituted by its role in some theory of experiences
(our folk psychological theory perhaps)? Given such a theoretically defined generic
concept of experience, there would be no barrier to then combining it with a general-
purpose “that” to form demonstrative concepts of specific experiences. Since the generic
concept wouldn't be derived by abstraction from prior phenomenal concepts of specific
experiences, there would be no circle in using it to form such specific phenomenal
concepts.
This picture may be cogent in principle, but it seems to be belied by the nature of our
actual phenomenal concepts. If a generic concept of “experience” were drawn from
something like folk psychological theory, then we could expect it to involve some
commitment to the assumption that experiences are internal causes of behavior. Folk
psychology surely conceives of experiences inter alia as internal states with characteristic
causes and behavioral effects. But then it would seem to follow that anything
demonstrated as that experience, where experience is the folk psychological concept,
must analytically have some behavioral effects. Which specific behavioral effects that
experience has needn't be analytic—you could know that all experiences have
characteristic effects without knowing what specific effects that experience has—but
still, it would be analytic that that experience had some behavioral effects. However, this
doesn't seem the right thing to say about phenomenal concepts. There is surely nothing
immediately contradictory in the idea that an experience picked out by some phenomenal
concept has no subsequent effects on
end p.121

behavior or anything else. Epiphenomenalism about phenomenal states doesn't seem to


be a priori contradictory. 11 Yet it would be, if our ways of referring to phenomenal states
analytically implied that they had behavioral effects.
Phenomenal Concepts as Perceptual Concepts

I said above that my old model of phenomenal concepts ran together the good idea that
phenomenal concepts are related to perceptual concepts with the bad idea that both kinds
of concepts are “demonstratives.” Let me now try to develop the good idea
unencumbered by the bad one.
My current view is that phenomenal concepts are simply special cases of perceptual
concepts. Consider once more the example where I perceptually identify some bird and
make a judgment about it (e.g., That is a migrant). I earlier explained how the perceptual
concept employed here could either be a concept of an individual bird or the concept of a
species. I want now to suggest that we think of phenomenal concepts as simply a further
deployment of the same sensory templates, but in this case being used to think about
perceptual experiences themselves rather than about the objects of those experiences. I
see a bird, or visually imagine a bird, but now I think not about that bird or a species but
about the experience, the conscious awareness of a bird. 12
The obvious question is, what makes it the case that I am here thinking about an
experience rather than about an individual bird or a species? However, we can give the
same answer here as before. I earlier explained how the subject's dispositions to carry
information from one encounter to another can decide whether a given sensory template
is referring to an individual rather than a species, or vice versa: if the subject projects
species-appropriate information, reference is to a species, whereas if the subject projects
individual-appropriate information, reference is to an individual. So let us apply the same
idea once more—if the subject is disposed to project experience-appropriate information
from one encounter to another, then the sensory template in question is being used to
think about an experience. For example, suppose I am disposed to project, from one
encounter to another, such facts as that what I am encountering ceases when I close my
eyes, goes fuzzy when I am tired, will be more detailed if I go closer, and so on. If this is
how I am using the template as a repository of information, then I will be referring to the
visual experience of seeing the bird rather than to the bird itself. More generally, if they
are used in this kind of way—to gather experience-appropriate information, so to speak—
the same sensory templates that are normally used to think about perceptible things will
refer to experiences themselves.
Can phenomenal concepts pick out experiential particulars as well as types? In the
perceptual case, as we have seen, there is room for such differential reference to both
particular objects and to types, thanks to the possibility of differing dispositions carrying
information from one encounter to another. In principle it may seem that the same sort of
thing could work in the phenomenal case. The trouble, however, is that particular
experiences, unlike ordinary spatiotemporal particulars, do not seem to persist over time
in the way required for reencounters to be possible. Can the same particular pain, or
particular visual sensation, or particular feeling of lassitude reoccur after ceasing to be
phenomenally present? It is true that we often say things like “Oh dear, there's that pain
again—I thought I was rid of it.” But nothing demands that we read such remarks as
about quantitative rather than qualitative identity. Nothing forces us to understand them
as saying that the same particular experience has reemerged, as it were, rather than that
the same experiential type has been reinstantiated (note in particular that experiences do
not seem to allow anything analogous to the spatiotemporal tracking of ordinary physical
objects). In line with this, note that information about experiences, as opposed to
information about spatiotemporal particulars, does not seem to divide into items that are
projectible across encounters with a particular and items that are projectible across
encounters with a type.
Given all this, I am inclined to say that phenomenal concepts cannot refer differentially
both to particulars and to types. Rather, they always refer to types—that is, to the kind of
mental item that can clearly reoccur. As I am conceiving of perceptual and phenomenal
concepts, the function of a concept is to carry information about its referent from one
encounter to another—and it seems that only phenomenal types and not particulars can be
reencountered.
The corollary is that when we do refer to particular experiences, we cannot be using our
basic apparatus of phenomenal concepts, given that these are only capable of referring to
phenomenal types. Rather, we must be invoking more sophisticated conceptual powers,
such as the ability to refer by description (thus the particular pain I am having now, or
the particular experience of crimson I enjoyed at last night's sunset).
Phenomenal Use and Mention
This model of phenomenal concepts as a species of perceptual concept retains one crucial
feature from my earlier quotational-indexical model, namely, that phenomenal references
to an experience will deploy an instance of that experience, and in this sense will use that
experience in order to mention it.
To see why, think about what happens when a phenomenal concept is exercised. Some
sensory template is activated and is used to think about an experience. This sensory
activation will result from externally generated sensory stimuli or autonomous
imaginative activity. That is, you will either be perceiving the environment
end p.123

or employing perceptual imagination; for example, either you will be perceiving a bird,
or you will be perceptually imagining one. Except, when phenomenal thought is
involved, this template is also used to think about perceptual experience itself and not
only about the objects of perceptions. You look at a bird or visually imagine that bird, but
now you use the sensory state to think about the visual experience of seeing the bird, and
not only about the bird itself.
This means that any exercise of a phenomenal concept to think about a perceptual
experience will inevitably involve either that experience itself or an imaginary re-creation
of that experience. If we count imaginary re-creations as “versions” of the experience
being imagined, then we can say that phenomenal thinking about a given experience will
always use a version of that experience in order to mention that experience.
Note how this model accounts for the oft-remarked “transparency of experience”
(Harman 1990). If we try to focus our minds on the nature of our conscious experiences,
all that happens is that we focus harder on the objects of those experiences. I try to
concentrate on my visual experience of the bird, but all that happens is that I look harder
at the bird itself. Now, there is much debate about exactly what this implies for the nature
of conscious experience (cf. Stoljar forthcoming). But we can bypass this debate here and
simply attend to the basic phenomenon, which I take to be the phenomenological
equivalence of (a) thinking phenomenally about an experience, and (b) thinking
perceptually with that experience. What it's like to focus phenomenally on your visual
experience of the bird is no different from what it's like to see the bird.
On my model of phenomenal thinking, this is just what we should expect. I said at the
end of the last section that the phenomenology of perceptual experiences is determined
by which sensory template they involve, and not by what information they carry with
them. I have now argued that just the same sensory templates underlie both perceptual
experiences and phenomenal thoughts about those experiences. It follows that perceptual
experiences and phenomenal thoughts about them will have just the same
phenomenology. This explains why thinking phenomenally about your visual experience
of a bird feels no different from thinking perceptually about the bird itself.
A Surprising Implication
The story I have told so far has an implication that some may find surprising. On my
account, the semantic powers of phenomenal concepts would seem to depend on their
cognitive function rather than on their phenomenal nature. I have argued that phenomenal
concepts refer to conscious experiences because it is their purpose to accumulate
information about those experiences. As it happens, exercises of such concepts will in
part be constituted by versions of the conscious experiences they refer to, and so will
share the what-it's-likeness of those experiences. But this latter, phenomenal fact seems
to play no essential role in the semantic workings of phenomenal concepts. To see this,
suppose that we had evolved to attach information about conscious experiences to states
other than sensory templates—to words in some language of thought, perhaps. Wouldn't
these states refer equally to
end p.124

experiences, and for just the same reason, even though their activation did not share the
phenomenology of their referents? However, this may seem in tension with the idea that
phenomenal concepts involve some distinctive mode of phenomenal self-reference to
experiences. If the phenomenality of phenomenal concepts is incidental to their
referential powers, then in what sense are they distinctively phenomenal? (Cf. Block,
chap. 12, this volume.)
Note that my earlier quotational-indexical account of phenomenal concepts is not open to
this kind of worry. On that account, phenomenal concepts used experiences as exemplars
rather than as ways of implementing a cognitive role. Given this, it is essential to the
phenomenal concept of seeing something red, say, that “quotes” some version of that
experience, just as it is essential to the quotational referring expression “ ‘zymurgy’ ” that
it contain the last word in the English dictionary within its single quotation marks. Thus
on the quotational-indexical account, there is no question of some state referring to an
experience in the same way that a phenomenal concept does without containing that
experience.
Note also that the worrisome implication is not peculiar to the particular theory of the
semantics of phenomenal concepts that I have defended in this chapter. It will arise on
any theory that makes the semantic powers of phenomenal concepts a matter of their
conceptual role, or their informational links to the external world, or any other facet of
their causal-historical workings. For any theory of this kind will make it incidental to the
referential powers of phenomenal concepts that they have the same phenomenology as
their referents. Any such theory leaves it open that some other state, with a different or no
phenomenology, could have the same causal-historical features and thus refer to
experiences for the same reason that phenomenal concepts do.
My response to this worry is that there is no real problem here. On my account,
phenomenal concepts do indeed refer because of their cognitive function, not because of
their phenomenology, and therefore other states with a different or no phenomenology,
but with the same cognitive function, would refer to the same experiences for the same
reasons. I see nothing wrong with this. Of course, it is a further question whether we
would wish to include any such nonphenomenological states within the category of
“phenomenal” concepts, given their lack of what-it's-likeness (cf. Tye 2003). But this is
no ground for denying that they would refer to experiences for just the same reason that
phenomenal concepts do.
I shall come back to the issue of what counts as a “phenomenal” concept in the next
section. But first let me ask a somewhat different question. Given that other things could
in principle play the cognitive role that determines reference to experiences, why do we
use experiences themselves for this purpose? What is it about conscious experiences that
makes them such a good vehicle for referring to themselves?
One possible answer is that this use of experiences is somehow well suited to answering
certain questions. To adapt an example of Michael Tye's (2003: 102), suppose that we are
wondering whether the England one-day cricket strip is visually darker than the Indian
one. By thinking phenomenally about these colors, we will generate versions of the
relevant experiences and be in a position to compare them directly.
end p.125

This makes some sense, but I think a simpler answer may be possible. Consider the
analogous question: why do we use perceptual experience to represent perceptible items
such as people, physical objects, animals, plants, shapes, colors, and so on? After all, in
this case too the referential powers of these states are presumably determined by some
type of cognitive role, which could in principle have been played by something other than
perceptual experiences themselves. Here the obvious answer seems to be that perceptions
are especially good for thinking about perceptible entities simply because they are
characteristically activated by those entities, and so are well suited to feature in
judgments that those entities are present. It would unnecessarily duplicate cognitive
mechanisms to use the perceptual system to identify perceptible entities and yet use
something other than perceptual experiences as the vehicle for occurrent thoughts that
imply that those entities are present.
This idea applies all the more in the phenomenal case. Conscious experiences are
excellent vehicles for thinking about those selfsame experiences simply because they are
automatically present whenever their referents are. The fact that we use experiences to
think about themselves means that we don't have to find other cognitive resources to
frame occurrent thoughts about the presence of experiences.

Phenomenal Concepts and Antimaterialist Arguments


The Knowledge Argument

In the last subsection, I raised the question of what exactly qualifies a concept as
“phenomenal.” I have no definite answer to this essentially definitional question. Far
more important, from my point of view, is whether phenomenal concepts as introduced
so far provide effective answers to the standard antiphysicalist arguments. I shall now
aim to show that they do this. In the course of doing so, however, I shall highlight those
features of phenomenal concepts that are important to their serving this philosophical
function. I'll leave open which features of phenomenal concepts are essential to their
counting as “phenomenal.” Rather, I'll focus on which features matter to the
philosophical arguments.
Let me begin with Frank Jackson's knowledge argument. Here the type-B physicalist
response is that there is indeed a sense in which Mary doesn't “know what seeing red is
like” before she comes out of her room, despite her voluminous material knowledge. But
this is not because there is any objective feature of reality that her material knowledge
fails to capture. Rather, it's simply because there is a way of thinking about the
experience of seeing red that is unavailable to her while still in the room.
Before Mary comes out of the room, she lacks a phenomenal concept of the experience of
seeing red. She could always think about the experience using her old material concepts,
but not with any phenomenal concept. This is why she did not know that seeing
red = THAT experience (where this is to be understood as using a material concept on the
left-hand side and a phenomenal concept on the right).
The crucial feature of phenomenal concepts, for the purposes of this argument, is that
they are experience-dependent: the concept's acquisition depends on its
end p.126

possessor having previously undergone the experience it refers to. This is why she doesn't
“know what seeing red is like” before she comes out of the room. She needs to see red in
order to acquire the conceptual wherewithal to think seeing red = THAT experience.
The reason that Mary's new concept depends on experience is that it requires a sensory
template, and her acquisition of this template depends on her visual system's having been
activated previously by some red surface. Of course, this is a contingent feature of human
beings. We can imagine beings who are born with the sensory templates that we acquire
from color experiences (cf. Papineau 2002, sec. 2.8). But humans are born with few, if
any, sensory templates; rather, they must acquire them from previous experiences. (If
humans were born with the sensory templates activated by red surfaces, then physicalists
could not answer the knowledge argument by saying that Mary needs a red experience to
acquire a phenomenal concept of red. But if humans were like that, then physicalists need
not answer the knowledge argument in the first place: since Mary would have a
phenomenal concept of red before she left her room, she would already be in a position to
know that seeing red = THAT experience.)
I Am Not Now Having or Imagining That Experience
It is worth distinguishing the experience-dependence of phenomenal concepts from the
use-mention feature discussed above. Even though normal examples of phenomenal
concepts, such as the one Mary acquires on leaving her room, have both the experience-
dependent and use-mention features, there is space in principle for concepts that are
phenomenal in the experience-dependent sense but that don't use experiences to mention
themselves. Indeed, I would argue that this is not just an abstract possibility—there are
actual concepts that display experience dependence but not the use-mention feature.
To see why, recall the earlier discussion of perceptually derived concepts. These derived
concepts involved the creation of some nonsensory file to house the information
associated with some perceptual concept, and they made it possible to think about
perceptible entities even when those entities were not being perceived or perceptually
imagined. Analogously, we can posit a species of “phenomenally derived concept.”
Suppose someone starts off, like Mary, by thinking phenomenally, using a sensory
template instilled by previous experiences. But then she creates a nonsensory file to
house the information that has become attached to that template, which will henceforth
allow her to think about the experience without any sensory activation. I say she now has
a phenomenally derived concept. Exercises of this concept won't activate the experience
it mentions, and so this concept will fail to satisfy the use-mention requirement. But this
phenomenally derived concept will still satisfy the experience-dependence requirement
because its creation depends on a prior phenomenal concept that in turn depends on
previous experiences.
The possibility of phenomenally derived concepts offers an answer to an objection raised
at the beginning of this chapter. There I said that standard accounts of phenomenal
concepts seem to imply that any exercise of a phenomenal concept demands the presence
of the experience it refers to or an imaginatively re-created exemplar thereof. However,
this seems too demanding. Surely someone like Mary can use her new concept to think
truly, I am not now having THAT experience (nor re-creating it in my imagination). Yet
this should be impossible, if any exercise of her phenomenal concept does indeed require
the relevant experience or its imaginative re-creation.
My response to this objection is that Mary thinks the problematic thought with the help of
a phenomenally derived concept. 13 She starts with a phenomenal concept based on some
sensory template, but her subsequent creation of a nonsensory file allows her to think
about the relevant experience without activating that template. She thinks, I am not now
having or imagining that experience. And because she is using a phenomenally derived
concept, what she thinks may well be true.
Some readers might wonder whether it is really appropriate to say that Mary is here
exercising a phenomenal concept. After all, if this concept is realized nonsensorily, then
why is it any more “phenomenal” than the general run of ordinary concepts? In
particular, would we want to say that someone knows “what it is like” to see something
red merely by virtue of her thinking seeing red = THAT experience where the right-hand
side deploys a phenomenally derived concept?
Well, I have no principled objection if someone wants to withhold the description
“phenomenal” on these grounds. But note that this move is not available to someone who
wants to press the objection at hand, which after all is precisely that there seems room for
a thinker to exercise a “phenomenal” concept while not having any version of the
experience referred to. For this objection to make any sense, “phenomenal” cannot be
understood as requiring sensory realization per se. Rather, it has to be understood simply
as standing for those concepts whose acquisition depends on undergoing the relevant
experience. And in this sense of “phenomenal,” phenomenally derived concepts do
explain how someone can think phenomenally without having any version of the
corresponding experience.

Semantic Stability and A Posteriori Necessity

Let me now turn to antimaterialist arguments that depend on modal considerations. The
best known of these is Kripke's argument against the identity theory in Naming and
Necessity (1980). But before addressing this, I would like to consider a different modal
argument, which I shall call “the argument from semantic stability.” As it turns out, both
these arguments can be blocked by appealing to the use-mention feature of phenomenal
concepts. But the way this works is rather different in the two cases.
end p.128

The argument from semantic stability hinges on the fact that type-B physicalists take
identity claims such as nociceptive-specific neuronal activity = pain (where the right-
hand side uses a phenomenal concept) to be a posteriori necessities. The distinctness of
the concepts on either side of the identity claim means that there is no question of
knowing such claims a priori. Even after she acquires both concepts, Mary still needs
empirical information to find out that pain is the same experience as nociceptive-specific
neuronal activity. In this respect, type-B physicalists take mind-brain identity claims to
be akin to such familiar a posteriori necessities as water = H 2 O, lightning = electric
discharge, or Hesperus = Phosphorous.
The objection to type-B physicalism is that phenomenal mind-brain identities cannot
possibly be akin to these familiar a posteriori necessities, because a posteriori necessity is
characteristically ascribable to “semantic instability,” but phenomenal concepts are
semantically stable. 14
Let me unpack this. Note first that, in all the examples of familiar a posteriori necessities
listed above, the referential value of at least one of the concepts involved—water,
lightning, Hesperus (and indeed Phosphorus)—depends, so to speak, on how things
actually are. If it had turned out that XYZ and not H 2 O is the colorless liquid in rivers,
then water would have referred to XYZ. If it had turned out that some heavenly body
other than Venus is seen in the early morning sky, then Hesperus would have referred to
that other heavenly body. And so on.
This observation suggests the hypothesis that a priority and necessity only come apart in
the presence of semantically unstable concepts. On this hypothesis, claims formulated
using semantically stable concepts will be necessary if and only if they are a priori.
Certainly there are plenty of concepts that seem to be stable in the relevant sense, that is,
whose referents seem not to depend on the actual facts. Physical concepts such as
electron or H 2 O seem to be like this, as do such everyday concepts as garden or
baseball. And if we stick to claims involving only such stable concepts (electrons are
negatively charged, say, or baseball is a game), then it does seem plausible that these
claims will be necessary if and only if they are a priori.
The general idea here is that necessities will be a posteriori only when you are ignorant of
the essential nature of some entity you are thinking about. If your concepts are
transparent to you, if their real essence coincides with their nominal essence, so to speak,
then you will be able to tell a priori whether claims involving them are necessary. But
with semantically unstable concepts, we need empirical information to know what they
refer to and so to ascertain whether a necessary proposition is expressed. To take just the
first example above, it takes empirical work to discover that H 2 O is the referent of water
and so that water = H 2 O is necessarily true.
The claim is thus that a posteriori necessity always turns on the presence of concepts
whose reference depends on the actual facts; correlatively, if we keep away from such
concepts, then necessity and a priority will always go hand in hand.
end p.129

If this claim is accepted, it is hard to see how phenomenal mind-brain identity claims
such as pain = nociceptive-specific neuronal activity could be true. For the phenomenal
concepts like pain do not seem to be semantically unstable. There seems little sense to the
idea that it could have turned out, given different empirical discoveries, that pain referred
to something other than its actual referent. But then, given the general thesis that a
posteriori necessity requires semantic instability, it follows that nociceptive-specific
neuronal activity = pain cannot be an a posteriori necessity. Since we don't need any
empirical information to know what pain refers to, we must already know what
proposition the claim nociceptive-specific neuronal activity = pain expresses, solely by
virtue of our grasp of the concept pain, and so ought to be able to tell a priori that this
claim is true if it is. But we can't tell a priori that it's true. So it can't be true.
In the face of this argument, type-B physicalists need to deny that a posteriori necessities
require semantically unstable concepts. There seems no doubt that phenomenal concepts
are semantically stable. And it is constitutive of type-B physicalism that phenomenal
mind-brain identities are a posteriori. So the only option left is to insist that these
identities are a posteriori necessities that involve no semantic instability.
Opponents will ask whether phenomenal mind-brain identities are the only such cases. If
they are, then the type-B physicalist can be charged with making an unacceptably ad hoc
move. Type-B physicalists would seem to be guilty of special pleading if the connection
between a posteriori necessity and semantic instability holds good across the board
except in cases that involve phenomenal concepts.
One obvious way for type-B physicalists to respond to this charge is to seek other
examples of a posteriori necessities that do not involve semantic instability. Obvious
possibilities are identities involving proper-name concepts that (unlike Hesperus or
Phosphorous) do not have their references fixed by salient descriptions (Cicero = Tully
say), or identities involving perceptual concepts (such as reflectance profile Φ = red
where the right-hand side uses a perceptual color concept).
However, opponents of type-B physicalism will deny that these a posteriori necessities
are free of semantic instability. Maybe the concepts involved don't have their references
fixed by salient descriptions. But the opponents will insist that this is not the only way for
concepts to be semantically unstable and that more careful analyses of semantic stability
will show that proper-name and perceptual concepts are indeed unstable, whereas
phenomenal concepts are not, and are thus still anomalous among concepts that enter into
a posteriori necessities. 15
I remain to be persuaded by this charge of anomalousness. However, I shall not dig my
heels in at this point. Rather, let me concede, for the sake of the argument,
end p.130

that phenomenal mind-brain identities are indeed anomalous because they don't involve
any semantically unstable concepts. I don't accept that this means that these identities
cannot be true. Rather, I say that phenomenal mind-brain identities are anomalous
because phenomenal concepts are very peculiar. More specifically, phenomenal concepts
have the very peculiar feature of using the experiences they refer to. When we reflect on
this, we will see that it is unsurprising that identities involving phenomenal concepts
should be unusual in combining semantic stability with a posteriori necessity.
The underlying antiphysicalist thought, recall, was that semantic stability goes hand in
hand with knowledge of real essences; conversely, if thinkers are ignorant of real
essences, they must be using unstable concepts. The complaint about type-B physicalism,
then, is that it requires the possessors of phenomenal concepts like pain to be ignorant of
the real physical essence of pain, even though the concept pain is manifestly stable. The
antiphysicalists thence conclude that pain must refer to something nonphysical,
something with which the possessors of the concept are indeed directly acquainted.
But type-B physicalists can respond that, however it is with other concepts, this
combination of semantic stability and ignorance of essence is just what we should expect,
given the use-mention feature characteristic of phenomenal concepts. Even if
phenomenal concepts don't involve direct knowledge of real essences, they will still come
out semantically stable, for the simple reason that the use-mention feature leads us to
think of the referent as “built into” the concept itself. Since the concept uses the
phenomenal property it mentions, this alone seems to eliminate any conceptual or
metaphysical space wherein that concept might have referred to something different.
I said above that I remained to be persuaded that phenomenal concepts are distinguished
from proper-name and perceptual concepts in uniquely displaying this combination of
semantic stability and ignorance of essence. Still, at an intuitive level we can see why
phenomenal concepts should appear special in this way. When we think of a proper-name
concept, such as Cicero, or a perceptual concept, such as red, we seem able to make
intuitive sense of scenarios where the reference-fixing facts are different, that is, where
the concept Cicero names some other person than Cicero, or where the perceptual
observational concept red refers to some different surface property. But we don't seem
able to do this with phenomenal concepts—there don't seem to be any scenarios whose
actuality would make pain refer to something other than pain. This is because we think of
phenomenal concepts as essentially using the very phenomenal properties that are being
referred to.
end p.131
This seems to leave no room for the idea that a given phenomenal concept could have
referred to some property other than the one it does refer to, if the facts had turned out
differently. As long as it remains the same phenomenal concept, its exercises will involve
the same phenomenal property—and then, since it mentions whichever phenomenal
property it uses, it will refer to that property, however the actual facts turn out. 16
In a sense, phenomenal concepts are too close to their referents for it to seem possible
that those same concepts could refer to something else. With other concepts that enter
into a posteriori identities, including proper-name and perceptual concepts, we can
imagine the “outside world” turning out in such a way that they referred to something
other than their actual referents. Some other person might have turned out be the
historical source of my Cicero concept, some other physical property might have turned
out to answer to my red concept, and so on. But in the case of phenomenal concepts, the
referent seems to be part of the concept itself, leaving no room for any such possibility. 17
If this is right, then the semantic stability of phenomenal concepts provides no reason to
think that they must refer to nonphysical properties with which their possessors are
directly acquainted. For the use-mention feature of phenomenal concepts yields an
independent explanation of why they should be semantically stable, even while their
possessors remain ignorant of the real physical essences of their referents.

Kripke's Original Argument

Let me now turn to Saul Kripke's original argument against the mind-brain identity
theory. There are significant differences between this and the argument from semantic
stability. Kripke doesn't seem to be committed to the thesis that necessity comes apart
from a priority only in the presence of semantic instability. Kripke's paradigm cases of a
posteriori necessities involve names whose reference is determined in line with his causal
theory of reference (Cicero = Tully), and there is nothing in Kripke to suggest that this a
posteriority demands that the referential values of these names must depend on the actual
facts. From a Kripkean point of view, there is nothing special here that needs
explaining—a posteriori necessities are simply a natural consequence of the
nondescriptive way reference is determined for normal names.

Kripke's argument hinges not on the a posteriority of the physicalist's identity claims, but
on their apparent contingency. Kripke has no complaint about the a posteriority of such
claims as pain = nociceptive-specific neuronal activity a posteriori necessities are par for
the course, from his point of view. What Kripke takes to be problematic about these
mind-brain identities, rather, is that it seems that they might have been false: intuitively
we feel that there are possible worlds—zombie worlds, say—where nociceptive-specific
neuronal activity is not identical to pain. Now there is nothing per se incoherent in the
idea of a necessary identity that appears contingent. For example, we can make sense of
the idea that Hesperus = Venus might have been false by construing this identity claim as
saying that the heavenly body that appears in the morning is Venus—something which
might well have been otherwise. But now—and this is Kripke's point—this way of
explaining the appearance of contingency does require you to construe the relevant
referring term as semantically unstable, for it demands that you read the term in a way
that makes it come out referring to something different if the actual facts are different.
Yet pain cannot be read in such a way, which means, says Kripke, that the physicalist has
no satisfactory way of explaining the apparent contingency of phenomenal mind-brain
identities.
So Kripke gets to the same place as the argument from semantic stability, but he gets
there from a different starting point. However, the differences between the two arguments
mean that Kripke's argument demands a rather different response from the physicalist. It
is no good to reply to Kripke that a posteriori necessity is consistent with semantic
stability, for he agrees about this, and indeed will allow that there are nonphenomenal
examples of this combination (Cicero = Tully). What he insists on, however, and this is a
different point, is that apparently contingent truths are inconsistent with semantic
stability, and that physicalists therefore have no way of explaining the apparent
contingency of the mind-brain identities they endorse.
In response to the argument for semantic stability, I denied that a posteriori necessity
required semantic instability, at least in the case of mind-brain identities. However, I
don't think that there is any corresponding room to deny that apparently contingent truths
must involve semantic instability. If a claim can be understood as actually true yet
possibly false, then some of the concepts involved must shift reference. Given that the
concepts in phenomenal mind-brain identity claims are all semantically stable, this leaves
physicalists with one option: deny that their phenomenal mind-brain identities are
apparently contingent.
This may seem all wrong. Isn't it agreed on all sides that we can cogently conceive of
zombies (even if they aren't really possible), and therewith that mind-brain identities at
least seem possibly false? So what room is there for the physicalist to deny that mind-
brain identities are apparently contingent?
Although I agree that physicalists are compelled to allow that phenomenal mind-brain
identities seem possibly false, this isn't to say that they seem contingently true.
Contingent truth requires not only falsity in some possible worlds, but also truth in the
actual world. And it is specifically this combination that generates the need for semantic
instability, to give a nonactual referent that falsifies the claim in some possible world. But
there is another way for an identity claim to seem
end p.133

possibly false, namely, for it simply to seem false. And in that case there is nothing to
require semantic instability.
Let me go more slowly. Consider people who think that Cicero is actually different from
Tully. To them the claim Cicero = Tully will of course seem possibly false, because it
will seem necessarily false. But nothing here demands that we understand them as
thinking of either of these names in a semantically unstable way, as possibly referring to
something other than their actual referents. Such a construal is only called for when we
have the combination of both apparent possible falsity and actual truth. If somebody
thought that Cicero = Tully is true, but might have been false, then we must construe
them as thinking the greatest Roman orator = Tully, or some such, to explain how they
have room, so to speak, for the thought that a necessary truth might have turned out to be
false. But there's no need to read them this way if they simply think that Cicero and Tully
are actually different.
So my suggestion is that physicalists should say that mind-brain identities strike us just as
Cicero = Tully strikes people who think Cicero and Tully are different people. They seem
non-necessary simply because they seem false. Zombies seem possible simply because
pain seems actually distinct from nociceptive-specific neuronal activity. From this point
of view, Kripke has misdescribed the crucial zombie intuition from the start. It's not an
intuition of apparently contingent truth (some confused intuition that pain could come
apart from nociceptive-specific neuronal activity in some other possible world) but
simply a direct intuition of falsity (pain is different from nociceptive-specific neuronal
activity in the actual world). 18 , 19
The Intuition of Distinctness
Some readers may be wondering why this last point doesn't concede the antiphysicalist
case to Kripke. My suggestion is that physicalists should explain our
end p.134

intuitions about the possibility of zombies by allowing that mind-brain identity claims
strike us as false. But isn't this tantamount to denying physicalism?
Not necessarily. I say physicalists should allow that physicalism seems false, not that it is
false. That is, physicalists should maintain that we have an intuition of mind-brain
distinctness but that this intuition is mistaken.
This is by no means ad hoc. It seems undeniable that most people have a strong intuition
of mind-brain distinctness—an intuition that pains are something extra to brain states,
say. This intuition is prior to any philosophical analyses of the mind-brain relation, and
indeed persists even among those (like me) who are persuaded by those analyses that
dualism must be false. Given this, it is a requirement on any satisfactory physicalist
position that it offer some explanation of why we should all have such a persistent
intuition of mind-brain distinctness even though it is false. Physicalists need to recognize
and accommodate the intuition of distinctness, quite apart from the fact that they need it
to deal with Kripke's argument.
There are a number of possible ways of explaining away the intuition of distinctness,
especially for physicalists who recognize phenomenal concepts. I favor an explanation
that hinges on the use-mention feature of phenomenal concepts, an explanation I have
called “the antipathetic fallacy.” 20
Suppose you entertain a standard phenomenal mind-brain identity claim such as
pain = nociceptive-specific neuronal activity, deploying a phenomenal concept on the
left-hand side and a material concept on the right. Given that the phenomenal concept
uses the experience it mentions, your exercise of this concept will depend on your
actually having a pain, or an imagined re-creation thereof. Because of this, exercising a
phenomenal concept will feel like having the experience itself. The activity of thinking
phenomenally about pain will introspectively strike you as involving a version of the
experience itself.
Things are different with the exercise of the material concept on the right-hand side.
There is no analogous phenomenology. Thinking of nociceptive-specific neuronal
activity doesn't require any pain-like feeling. So there is an intuitive sense in which the
exercise of this material concept “leaves out” the experience at issue. It “leaves out” the
pain in the sense that it doesn't activate any version of it.
It is all too easy to slide from this to the conclusion that, in exercising such a material
concept, we are not thinking about the experiences themselves. After all, doesn't this
material mode of thought “leave out” the experiences in a way that the phenomenal
concept does not? And doesn't this show that the material concept simply doesn't refer to
the experience denoted by our phenomenal concept of pain?
This line of thought is terribly natural. (Consider the standard rhetorical ploy: “How
could pain arise from mere neuronal activity?”) But of course it is a fallacy. There is a
sense in which material concepts do “leave out” the feelings. Uses of them do not in any
way activate the experiences in question, by contrast with uses of phenomenal concepts.
But it simply does not follow that these material concepts
end p.135

“leave out” the feelings in the sense of failing to refer to them. They can still refer to the
feelings, even though they don't activate them.
After all, most concepts don't use or involve the things they refer to. When I think of
being rich, say, or having measles, this doesn't in any sense make me rich or give me
measles. In using the states they refer to, phenomenal concepts are very much the
exception. So we shouldn't conclude on this account that material concepts, which work
in the normal way of most concepts, in not using the states they refer to, fail to refer to
those states.
Fallacious as it is, this line of thought still seems to me to offer a natural account of the
intuitive resistance to physicalism about conscious experiences. This resistance arises
because we have a special way of thinking about our conscious experiences, namely, by
using phenomenal concepts. We can think about our conscious experience using concepts
to which they bear a phenomenal resemblance. And this then creates the fallacious
impression that other nonphenomenal ways of thinking about those experiences fail to
refer to the felt experiences themselves. 21

Chalmers on Type-B Physicalism

Chalmers's Dilemma

David Chalmers has recently mounted an attack on the whole type-B physicalist strategy
of invoking phenomenal concepts to explain the mind-brain relation (see chap. 9, this
volume). He aims to present type-B physicalists with a dilemma. Let C be the thesis that
humans possess phenomenal concepts. As Chalmers sees it, type-B physicalists require
both (a) that C explains our epistemic situation with respect to consciousness and (b) that
C is explicable in physical terms. However, Chalmers argues that there is no version of C
that satisfies both these desiderata—either C can be understood in a way that makes it
physically explicable or in a way that allows us to explain our epistemic situation, but not
both.
To develop the horns of this dilemma, Chalmers asks the physicalist whether or not C is
conceptually guaranteed by the complete physical truth about the universe, P. That is, is P
and not-C conceivable?
Suppose the physicalist says that this combination is conceivable. This makes the
existence of phenomenal concepts conceptually independent of all physical claims. But
then, argues Chalmers, all the original puzzles about the relation between the brain and
phenomenal states will simply reappear as puzzles about the relation between the brain
and phenomenal concepts themselves. So Chalmers holds that on this option, C fails to be
physically explicable.
The other option is for the physicalist to say that P and not-C is not conceivable. On this
horn, claims about phenomenal concepts will not be conceptually independent of P (for
example, suppose that phenomenal concepts are conceived physically
end p.136

or functionally). This would mean that zombies (conceivable beings who are physically
identical to us but lack consciousness) would be conceived as having phenomenal
concepts. However, Chalmers maintains, we don't conceive of zombies as epistemically
related to consciousness as we are (after all, they are conceived as not having any
consciousness). This argues that something more than C is needed to explain our peculiar
relation to consciousness. So Chalmers holds that on this option, C fails to explain our
epistemic situation.
So either P and not-C is conceivable, or it isn't. And on neither option, argues Chalmers,
is C both physically explicable and explanatory of our epistemic situation.
The Dilemma Embraced
Far from viewing Chalmers as offering a nasty choice, I am happy to embrace both horns
of his dilemma. I say that we can conceive of phenomenal concepts in a way that makes
them conceptually independent of the physical facts and conceive of them in a way that
doesn't make them conceptually independent. Moreover, I think that both these ways of
thinking about phenomenal concepts allows phenomenal concepts to be simultaneously
physically explicable and explanatory of our epistemic situation.
It is the use-mention feature of phenomenal concepts that allows them to be thought of in
two different ways. Exercises of phenomenal concepts involve versions of the
phenomenal states they refer to. Given this, thinking about phenomenal concepts requires
us to think of the phenomenal states that they use. But according to type-B physicalism,
these used phenomenal states, like phenomenal states in general, can be thought of in two
different ways: phenomenally and nonphenomenally. So we can think about (first-order)
phenomenal concepts phenomenally, using (second-order) phenomenal concepts to think
about the phenomenal states involved, or we can think about them nonphenomenally,
conceiving the involved phenomenal states in, say, physical or functional terms. Since the
(second-order) phenomenal concepts used on the first option, like all phenomenal
concepts, will be a priori distinct from any physical or functional concepts, the first way
of thinking about (first-order) phenomenal concepts will make P and not-C conceivable,
whereas the second way of thinking about (first-order) phenomenal concepts, as physical
or functional, will make P and not-C inconceivable. 22
However, for a type-B physicalist, these two ways of thinking still refer to the same
entities: (first-order) phenomenal concepts. And these entities will have the same nature
and cognitive role, however they are referred to. So the way they are referred to ought to
make no difference to whether they are physically explicable and explanatory of our
epistemic situation. They should satisfy these two desiderata in any case. Let me now
show that they do.

The First Horn

On the first horn, we think about first-order phenomenal concepts by using second-order
phenomenal concepts. That is, we note that exercises of first-order phenomenal concepts
involve uses of phenomenal states, and when we think of the phenomenal states involved,
we do so using second-order phenomenal concepts.
The problem on this horn, according to Chalmers, relates to the epistemic and
explanatory gap between physical and phenomenal claims. Chalmers views this gap as
making a strong case for dualism, a case that type-B physicalists seek to block by
showing that the existence of this gap can be explained in terms of certain features of
phenomenal concepts. However, even if invoking phenomenal concepts can succeed in
explaining the original gap between physical and phenomenal claims, Chalmers argues
that physicalists will now need to explain away a new gap between physical claims and
claims about the possession of phenomenal concepts. For, after all, on this horn of the
dilemma, they agree that P and not-C is conceivable, that is, that the physical facts do not
conceptually necessitate claims about first-order phenomenal concepts.
The obvious physicalist response is to argue that they can explain this new gap in just the
way that they explained the original one. If we are conceiving of first-order phenomenal
concepts using second-order phenomenal concepts, then of course there will be a
conceptual gap between physical claims and claims about phenomenal concepts. Still, if
the original gap could be “explained in terms of certain distinctive features of [first-order]
phenomenal concepts,” as Chalmers is allowing for the sake of the argument, why can't
the new gap be explained in terms of the same features of second-order phenomenal
concepts?
Chalmers objects that this explanation-repeating move will be either regressive or
circular. But it is not obvious to me why this should be so. In particular, there doesn't
seem to be anything regressive or circular in repeating the explanatory use that I have
made of phenomenal concepts, as I shall show in a moment.
I suspect that Chalmers's charge of regression or circularity reflects the very high
demands he is placing on type-B explanations of the conceptual gap. For the most part he
leaves it open how such explanations might go, being happy to conduct his argument on
an abstract level. But just before his charge of regression or circularity, he does propose
one possible explanation of the original gap, suggesting that type-B physicalists might
say that phenomenal concepts give their possessors a distinctive kind of direct
acquaintance with their referents, of a kind that “one would not predict from just the
physical/functional structure of the brain.” I agree that this kind of explanation is going to
get type-B physicalists into trouble, but not because it becomes regressive or circular
when it is repeated at the higher level. Rather, the trouble comes because it is
unacceptable at the outset for a physicalist to posit distinctive semantic powers of direct
reference that correspond to nothing identifiable in physical or functional terms.
end p.138

Still, this doesn't mean that any type-B physicalist explanation of the conceptual gap is
going to run into trouble. There is no question here of cataloging all the different ways in
which different type-B physicalists have appealed to phenomenal concepts in order to
account for various “gaps.” Let me simply remind readers of some of the things I said
earlier and show that there is nothing regressive or circular about saying the same things
about the relation between physical claims and phenomenally conceived claims about
phenomenal concepts.
Like all type-B physicalists, I take the existence of first-order phenomenal concepts to
imply that first-order phenomenal mind-brain identity claims are a posteriori. In response
to the challenge that these claims are unique among a posteriori necessities in not hinging
on semantically unstable concepts, I argued that such uniqueness is adequately explained
by the use-mention feature of phenomenal concepts. This feature explains why we take it
that phenomenal concepts will refer to the same referent whatever the facts, even though
phenomenal concepts are arguably unlike other semantically stable concepts in not
requiring transparent knowledge of the essential nature of their referents. As to the
feeling that, even after this has been said, there remains something disturbingly
unexplanatory about phenomenal mind-brain identities, my view is that this feeling
doesn't stem from any semantic or epistemic peculiarity of these identities, but simply
from the prior “intuition of distinctness” that militates against our believing these
identities to start with. (To the extent we embrace this intuition, then of course we will
feel a real “explanatory gap,” for we will then want some causal explanation of why the
physical brain should “give rise to” the supposedly separate phenomenal mind.) 23 As to
the source of the intuition of distinctness, I explained this by once more appealing to the
use-mention feature of phenomenal concepts, and the way it makes us think that
nonphenomenal modes of thought “leave out” the phenomenal feelings.
Now I don't see why I can't simply say all these things again, if Chalmers challenges me
to account for the extra gap between P and C that arises when we are thinking of first-
order phenomenal concepts in second-order phenomenal terms. Second-order
phenomenal claims identifying the possession of first-order phenomenal concepts with
physical states will be a posteriori necessities. If these are held to be unusual among a
posteriori necessities in not involving semantic instability, I can point out that the use-
mention feature of second-order phenomenal concepts explains why this should be so. If
it is felt that, even after this has been said, there seems to be something disturbingly
unexplanatory about claims identifying the possession of first-order phenomenal concepts
with physical states, I attribute this to a higher level “intuition of distinctness” that arises
because physical/functional ways of thinking about first-order phenomenal concepts
seems to “leave out” the feelings which are present when we think about first-order
phenomenal concepts using second-order phenomenal concepts.
end p.139

In short, just as the use-mention feature of first-order phenomenal concepts accounts for
any peculiarities of the conceptual gap between physical/functional claims and first-order
phenomenal claims about phenomenal properties, so does the use-mention feature of
second-order phenomenal concepts account for any similar peculiarities in the gap
between physical/functional claims P and second-order phenomenal claims C about the
possession of phenomenal concepts.
Of course, Chalmers may now wish to ask about the relationship between
physical/functional claims P and third-order phenomenal claims C about the possession
of second-order phenomenal concepts. But I am happy to go on as long as he is.

The Second Horn

Let me now turn to the other horn of Chalmers's dilemma. Here P and not-C is not
conceivable. We conceive of phenomenal concepts in physical/functional terms, and so
we conceive of zombies as sharing our phenomenal concepts by virtue of sharing our
physical/functional properties.
Chalmers's worry on this horn is that phenomenal concepts so conceived will fail to
explain our epistemic relationship to consciousness. For we don't conceive of zombies as
epistemically related to consciousness as we are, even though (on this horn) we conceive
them as sharing our phenomenal concepts. So something more than phenomenal concepts
seems to be needed to explain our peculiar epistemic relation to consciousness.
To rebut this argument and show that a physical/functional conception of phenomenal
concepts allows a perfectly adequate account of our epistemic relation to consciousness, I
need to proceed in stages. To start with, observe that none of the points I have made
about our relationship to consciousness demands anything more than a purely
physical/functional conception of phenomenal concepts. To confirm this, we can check
that all these points would apply equally to zombies, conceived of as having
physical/functional phenomenal concepts but no inner phenomenology. Note that the
zombies' “phenomenal” concepts (the scare quotes are to signal that we are not now
conceiving of these concepts as involving any phenomenology) will be just as
experience-dependent as our own. Zombie Mary will need to come out of her room to
acquire a “phenomenal” concept of red experience, and when she does, she will acquire
some new non-indexical knowledge: she will come to know that seeing red =THAT
experience (where this is to be understood as using a material concept on the left-hand
side and her new experience-dependent “phenomenal” concept on the right-hand side).
Moreover, this kind of knowledge is arguably unusual insofar as it lays claim to an a
posteriori necessity but doesn't display the semantic instability characteristic of such
claims. Still, zombie type-B physicalists can invoke the use-mention feature of zombie
Mary's new “phenomenal” concept to explain why that concept should come out as
semantically stable even though its possessors can be ignorant of the essential nature of
its referent. Not that the zombie type-B physicalists are likely to have things all their own
way, for they will also have to contend with the zombie “intuition of distinctness”:
zombies who reflect on the nature of their “phenomenal” brain-mind claims might well
note (using second-order “phenomenal” concepts) that the left-hand sides “leave out” a
end p.140

mental property that is used on the right-hand sides, and conclude on this basis that non-
“phenomenal” concepts don't mention the same mental properties that are mentioned by
“phenomenal” concepts. Still, zombie type-B physicalists can point out that this is a
confusion, engendered by the peculiar use-mention feature of zombie “phenomenal”
concepts.
All in all, then, everything I have said about our own epistemic relation to our conscious
states will be mirrored by the zombies' relation to their corresponding states. I take this
symmetry with zombies to show that our own relationship to consciousness can be
perfectly adequately explained using a physical/functional conception of phenomenal
properties. But Chalmers urges that the comparison cuts the other way. Maybe, he allows,
we can suppose that zombies have states to which they stand in the same sort of epistemic
relation that we have to consciousness. But we mustn't forget, he insists, that we are also
conceiving of zombies as beings who lack our inner life, who have no phenomenology.
Given this, Chalmers argues, an explanation of mental life that works for zombies can't
possibly explain our relation to our own conscious phenomenology.
At this point it will help to recall the basic type-B physicalist attitude to zombies. Since
type-B physicalists hold that human consciousness is in fact physical, they contend that
zombies are metaphysically impossible. Any being who shares our physical properties
will therewith share our conscious properties; not even God could make a zombie. At the
same time, type-B physicalists recognize that we have two ways of thinking about
phenomenal properties. This is why zombies are conceivable even though impossible.
We can apply one way of thinking about phenomenal matters, but withhold the other—
that is, we can think of zombies as sharing our physical/functional properties but as
lacking our phenomenal properties phenomenally conceived.
Given this, there is no obvious reason why type-B physicalists should be worried that a
physical/functional explanation of our epistemic relationship to consciousness will apply
equally to zombies. Physical/functional duplicates of us will necessarily be conscious,
just like us. True, our ability to think in phenomenal terms makes it possible for us also to
conceive of these duplicates as lacking phenomenal properties, and thus as not being
related to consciousness in the way that we are. But the fact that we can so conceive of
zombies needn't worry the physicalist, who after all thinks that we are here conceiving an
impossibility which misrepresents our actual relationship to consciousness. We can
imagine beings who are physically/functionally just like us but who lack our inner life,
but that doesn't mean that the physical/functional story is leaving something out, given
that in reality our inner life isn't anything over and above the physical/functional facts.
Let me conclude by turning to “silicon zombies.” Here things come out rather differently
because type-B physicalism leaves open that silicon zombies are metaphysically as well
as conceptually possible. Silicon zombies are possible beings who share our functional
properties, if necessary down to a fine level of detail, but who are made of silicon-based
materials rather than our carbon-based ones, and on that account lack our conscious
properties. As it happens, I am inclined to the view that conscious properties are identical
with functional properties rather than strictly physical properties, and that silicon zombies
are therefore metaphysically
end p.141

impossible, just like full-on zombies. However, nothing in type-B physicalism as I have
presented it (nor indeed anything I have written about consciousness) requires this
identification of conscious properties with functional rather than physical ones, so I am
prepared to concede for the sake of argument that silicon zombies would lack conscious
properties.
Now suppose further that the “physical/functional” conception of phenomenal concepts
which defines the second horn of Chalmers's dilemma is in fact a functional conception.
(This seems reasonable—all the nonphenomenal claims I have made about phenomenal
concepts have hinged on their functional workings, not their physical nature.) Since
silicon zombies are our functional duplicates, they will therefore have “phenomenal”
concepts, functionally conceived, and these will mimic the operations of our own
phenomenal concepts: silicon Mary will need to come out of her room to acquire a
“phenomenal” concept of red “experience,” silicon subjects will suffer a “dualist intuition
of distinctness,” and so on.
So my putative explanation of our own epistemic relationship to consciousness is
mirrored by the matching relationship of the silicon zombies to their corresponding
states, even though the silicon zombies are missing the crucial thing that we have:
consciousness. And because we are dealing with silicon zombies rather than full-on
physical duplicates, I can't say that this asymmetry is an illusion generated by our
conceiving an impossibility, since by hypothesis the silicon zombies really wouldn't have
the conscious properties that we humans possess. Unlike full-on duplicates, silicon
zombies really do lack something that we have.
At this point, I think that type-B physicalists should bite the bullet and say that the thing
that differentiates us from the silicon zombies doesn't make any difference to the
explanatory significance of phenomenal concepts. We might be related to something
different, but this doesn't mean that we enjoy some special mode of epistemological
access to our conscious states that is not shared by the silicon zombies. After all, the
silicon zombies' “phenomenal” concepts do successfully refer to a certain range of silicon
mental properties—“schmonscious” properties—and type-B physicalists can say that the
silicon zombies' “phenomenal” concepts relate them to these schmonscious properties in
just the way that our own phenomenal concepts relate us to our conscious properties.
True, these schmonscious properties are not conscious ones, since by hypothesis we are
supposing that consciousness requires carbon-based physical makeup. But this does not
mean that there is any substantial explanatory asymmetry between the way our
phenomenal concepts relate us to our conscious states and the way the zombies'
“phenomenal” concepts relate them to their schmonscious states. (After all, note that
silicon zombie philosophers can point out that we lack something that they have, given
that we lack the silicon-based makeup required for schmonsciousness.)
Of course, if you are a dualist, like David Chalmers, or indeed like anybody who is still in
the grip of the intuition of distinctness, then you will hold that there is some very special
extra property generated by carbon-based brains, and nothing corresponding in the silicon
zombies. And you will think our introspective awareness relates us to this special extra
property, and so must involve some special capacity that silicon zombies do not share.
But physicalists reject any such special properties additional to physical/functional ones,
and so they have no reason to
end p.142

think that our relation to our conscious properties is any different in kind from the silicon
zombies' relation to their schmonscious properties. Phenomenal concepts, functionally
conceived, provide a perfectly good explanation of both relationships.

Acknowledgments

Earlier versions of this chapter were read at the Tilburg workshop titled “Mind and
Rationality” in August 2003, at the Jowett Society in Oxford in October 2003, and at the
King's College Departmental Seminar in January 2004. I would like to thank all those
who commented on those occasions.

References

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end p.144

eight Phenomenal Concepts and the Materialist Constraint


Joseph Levine

We begin with the following contrast. When considering the theoretical reduction of
water to H 2 O, we find the connection explanatory. We see why water is liquid at room
temperature, transparent, turns to vapor under suitable circumstances, and the like, by
appeal to its chemical structure and other facts expressible in the vocabulary of physics
and chemistry. The connection posited between water and H 2 O in no way appears
arbitrary to us.
On the other hand, when we consider the theoretical reduction of a phenomenal state,
such as a visual experience, something important seems to be left unexplained. Though
appeal to the neurological structure of the state (together with an account of the overall
physical structure of the relevant portions of the nervous system) explains a lot about how
various stimuli cause the visual experience and how the visual experience interacts with
other states to cause both behavior and other cognitive states, the qualitative character of
the experience—what it's like to have the experience—does not seem to be explained.
The connection between the neurological description and our first-person conception of
what it's like seems totally arbitrary. One feels that this neurological configuration could
just as easily have gone with a bluish visual experience as a reddish one. In fact, for all
we can tell, it could just as easily have gone with a state that was like nothing at all for
the subject.
It is this contrast—this sense of arbitrariness that attends the psychophysical reduction as
opposed to the sense of intelligibility that attends other theoretical reductions—that is the
core problem that goes by the name of “the explanatory gap.” Though there are many
different ways to illustrate this contrast—for instance, by appeal to the conceivability
argument, Frank Jackson's (1982) case of Mary, and the open question argument—it's
important not to lose sight of the core idea itself, namely the contrast. It seems to me that
often in the literature this core idea has been lost amid the finer details concerning
questions of modality, derivability, and identity.
To illustrate what I mean, consider the issue of derivability. The question of derivability
arises once we link the explanatory gap to the conceivability argument. The
conceivability argument proceeds from the premise that the existence of
end p.145

zombies cannot be ruled out a priori to the conclusion that they are metaphysically
possible. The explanatory gap is implicated in the conceivability premise itself because, it
is alleged, if we had an explanation of the phenomenal in terms of the physical, zombies
wouldn't in fact be conceivable. Conceivability itself, as is clear from the statement of the
argument above, has been interpreted as the absence of an a priori derivation of such
statements as “This creature is having a reddish visual experience” from statements
involving only physiological and functional vocabulary.
The issue of derivability has also come up in the discussion of Jackson's “knowledge
argument.” The punch line of the argument is that when Mary finally leaves what Perry
(2001) calls the “Jackson room” and is exposed to a red surface, she exclaims, “Oh, so
that's what it's like to see red.” However, goes the argument, if phenomenal properties
were really explicable in terms of their physiological correlates, she should have expected
it to be like that. Based on all the theoretical knowledge she had accumulated in the
Jackson room, she should have been able to predict what it would be like. This lack of
ability to predict what it would be like is then interpreted to be a matter of her inability to
come up with an a priori derivation of the relevant statement in “phenomenal” language
from the theoretical descriptions couched in nonphenomenal language.
Once the question at issue has been transformed into one about a priori derivability, then
the following dialectic takes hold. Defenders of materialism argue that in fact there is no
relevant contrast between the standard cases of theoretical reduction and the
psychophysical case. They argue that just as one cannot derive a priori statements of the
form “This creature is having a reddish visual experience” from statements containing
only nonphenomenal vocabulary, so too one cannot derive a priori statements such as
“This cup is filled with water” from statements containing only vocabulary from
chemistry and physics. If this absence of a priori derivability makes zombies conceivable,
then so too is “zombie-H 2 O” conceivable (i.e., H 2 O that isn't water). Just as the
conceivability of the latter does not throw any doubt on the metaphysical claim that water
is H 2 O—nor does it undermine the felt intelligibility and nonarbitrariness of the
connection—so too the mere conceivability of zombies should throw no doubt on the
claim that phenomenal properties are physical properties—or, more important, on the
claim that the psychophysical link is fully intelligible.
Consider now the issue of identity. In presenting the core contrast underlying the claim
that there is an explanatory gap between the phenomenal and the physical, I pointed to
how we can explain many of the properties of water—such as its liquidity at room
temperature—by appeal to its chemical structure (along with other relevant chemical
facts, of course). I then noted that we seem unable to explain a phenomenal property, like
the reddishness of a visual experience, by appeal to its underlying neurological structure.
But of course there is an important difference here. In the water case, we look at some of
water's properties and then seek an explanation in terms of the properties of H 2 O. But in
the psychophysical case, the explanandum at issue is the instantiation of the property that
is alleged to be the very same property as that cited in the explanans: phenomenal
reddishness, according to the materialist, just is the relevant neurological property. So of
course there is no explanation, since identities are not really susceptible of explanation.
end p.146

Just ask not why water is liquid at room temperature, but why water is H 2 O, to see how
misleading the initial presentation of the core contrast was. After all, what is there to say
in answer to why water is H 2 O but that that's just the way it is? A similar answer, it is
alleged, is appropriate in the psychophysical case.
Though these two materialist replies that focus on the issues of derivability and identity
contain important insights, I think they still miss the crucial point, which is the core
contrast with which we began. Suppose I agree that in fact one cannot derive a priori
“water” talk from chemical talk precisely because the difference in vocabulary blocks the
derivation. Suppose I also agree that identity claims, strictly speaking, do not require
explanations. Still, the following contrast continues to stare us in the face. If after
learning all the relevant chemistry—after learning how the molecular structure H 2 O is
responsible for all the superficial properties by which we identify water—someone were
nevertheless to assert that she still didn't see how water could be H 2 O, that the
connection between being H 2 O and being water seemed quite arbitrary, I believe we
literally wouldn't understand what she was talking about. Yet, after learning all that Mary
supposedly learns in the Jackson room, we understand quite well the feeling Mary has
when she says, “Oh, so that's what it's like to see red!” There is a clear sense of
arbitrariness about it, a sense that it could easily have been some other way. If she were
to follow up her exclamation with the question, “But why should it be like that?” we'd
know what she means. The fact that we lack a priori derivability in both cases doesn't
remove the fundamental epistemic or cognitive contrast. 1
One may reply here that by insisting on this core contrast, I am refusing to acknowledge
the crucial point just mentioned concerning the inexplicability of identities. A cognitive
sense of “arbitrariness” is a symptom of having hit explanatory bedrock. When
confronted with a question such as why the fundamental laws of physics are as they are—
why, say, light travels the speed it does—it's acceptable to answer that that's just the way
the world is. Yes, it is arbitrary, because there is no more fundamental phenomenon by
appeal to which we can explain it. In effect, this is the property dualist answer to the
explanatory gap. Why, the dualist says, does it seem arbitrary that this phenomenal
property is correlated with that physical property? Her answer is that this reflects a basic
law of nature. Appeal to the basic nature of a connection is a satisfactory explanation of
its apparent arbitrariness.
Of course the materialist can't appeal to a basic law connecting phenomenal and physical
properties, for that would be to accept a form of dualism. But it appears she can still co-
opt the “That's just the way it is” response by appealing to the basic
end p.147

or brute nature of identity. When we reach identity claims, it is argued, we have also
reached explanatory bedrock. Now I grant this, to an extent, but it doesn't address the
problem presented by the core contrast. After all, in both the water-H 2 O and
psychophysical cases we are dealing with identity claims, yet our cognitive assessment of
the arbitrariness of the links is quite different. We need an account of this difference.
Perhaps we can put the matter this way. We begin by identifying certain phenomenal
states, such as visual experiences, with certain neurological states. We find that by doing
so we can explain many of the properties of the phenomenal state, as mentioned above.
We can explain, basically, its causal role. We then seek an explanation of its qualitative
or phenomenal character. Why, we ask, is it like this to see red? Appeal to neurological
properties doesn't seem to answer the question. The neurological properties seem apt only
for explaining causes and effects. But then the materialist makes the next move. You see,
she says, the qualitative character just is one of the neurological properties. At this point,
we intuitively balk. How can that be, we retort? They certainly don't seem to be the same
property. The idea seems unintelligible, in a way that the identity of water with H 2 O
doesn't. So now we face, rather than the explanatory question, the non-identity question.
Why, in this case, does it seem so bizarre to consider what is picked out by the one
vocabulary to be the very same thing as what is picked out by the other vocabulary, when
no such sense of bizarreness attends other theoretical reductions? Whether we think of it
as an explanatory gap or a distinctness gap, the problem is really the same.
Before turning finally to a discussion of phenomenal concepts, I want to pick up one
loose thread from above. I noted earlier that the explanatory gap has been connected to
the conceivability argument, to the knowledge argument, and also to the open question
argument. I think a consideration of this last link will reinforce my argument concerning
the relevance of the core contrast. By the “open question” argument, I have in mind the
following. Suppose we are confronted with an alien species or an advanced robot. We
know everything there is to know about its internal workings. It turns out that its
functional organization is, down to a fairly low level of implementation, very much like
our own, though the physical mechanisms are different. Now we ask, is it conscious?
And, if so, is what it is like for this creature to see red the same as what it is like for us?
Contrast this case with the famous case of Twin Earth. On Twin Earth, we find a
substance that behaves, at the macro level, exactly the way water behaves on Earth. We
are happy to consider it water. However, after we conduct chemical tests on it, we see
that its underlying structure, XYZ, is quite different from H 2 O. Is it water nevertheless?
Of course, those of us growing up in philosophy after the Kripke-Putnam revolution are
prone to respond immediately that it isn't water. On the other hand, one can see how one
might make the argument that it is water, that there are two kinds of water. Some might
compromise and claim that it's really not determined in advance, that we just have to
decide how we want to use the term “water” and whether or not we want to include XYZ
in its extension.
Any of these three positions makes sense, I contend. We might have good reasons for
picking one above the others as a better semantic hypothesis, but one can imagine
arguments for all three. The point is, what all three positions have in
end p.148

common is the view that, after all the chemistry is done, what is left is a semantic issue.
There is no real question of nonsemantic fact left open. All the relevant nonsemantic facts
are revealed. This situation stands in stark contrast to how the psychophysical case
described above at least appears. Whether or not the newly encountered creatures possess
consciousness, and, if so, what it's like for them, does not seem at all a semantic question.
What is left open, it seems quite clear, is a matter of genuine, nonsemantic fact, one that
we haven't a clue how to go about determining. After all, what would it mean to “just
decide” to call these creatures “conscious” or to call their phenomenal character when
looking at red “reddish”?
I think the presence of an open nonsemantic question in the psychophysical case and its
absence in the water case beautifully captures the core contrast. That there seems to be a
genuine open question reflects the strong intuition that we are dealing with two properties
here, the phenomenal one and the physical one, and that there is at best a brute, arbitrary
connection between them. Though I don't think the falsity of the materialist identity claim
is entailed by this intuition of distinctness, I do believe the materialist has a burden to
explain its persistence. This is precisely what some materialists have attempted recently
by appealing to the special properties of what are called “phenomenal concepts.”
Most materialist attempts to explain the existence of an explanatory gap revolve around
the idea of a phenomenal concept. Phenomenal concepts are concepts of phenomenal
properties, the ones employed in standard first-person thoughts about one's conscious
experience. So, for instance, when I wonder how the reddishness of my visual experience
is explained by appeal to its physical properties, the concept of reddishness that is a
constituent of that thought is a phenomenal concept. Though other concepts—those, say,
that are expressed by vocabulary from neuroscience or computational psychology—
might pick out the phenomenal property of reddishness, they don't qualify as phenomenal
concepts. Phenomenal concepts are quite special ways of conceiving of our sensory
experiences, proprietary to the first-person point of view.
The general materialist strategy then is this. The initial puzzle concerns a certain
cognitive state, our state of wondering how the physical properties of our sensory states
explain their phenomenal properties. That we have such cognitive states is prima facie
puzzling because the phenomenal properties in question just are the physical properties in
question, so what's to explain? Obviously, they seem to be different properties, and the
explanatory question makes sense to us. The answer to the puzzle presented by these
cognitive states is to note that they involve, as constituents, two radically different kinds
of concept: phenomenal concepts and, for want of a better term, nonphenomenal
concepts. It is because we are conceiving of phenomenal properties via these two
different kinds of concept that the explanatory question makes sense, that they seem so
strongly to be about distinct properties. But the distinctness is all in the concepts, not the
properties the concepts are concepts of.
Notice that the strategy just outlined does not merely appeal to the distinctness of the
concepts involved, but to the alleged radical difference in kind between phenomenal and
nonphenomenal concepts. This is crucial because we are able to see,
end p.149

with no special cognitive difficulty, how numerous properties and individuals that are
picked out by distinct concepts might be the same thing. We started, after all, by noting
such contrasts. So the critical move on behalf of the materialist is to provide an account
of phenomenal concepts—and what's involved when we bring them together with
nonphenomenal concepts within the same thoughts—that explains the unique cognitive
features of this case. The attempts to provide just such an account are what I want to
investigate in this chapter.
In the following sections, I will look at various ways of characterizing phenomenal
concepts that are supposed to explain the presence of an explanatory gap. Though I base
these characterizations loosely on the literature, none of them precisely corresponds to
any one particular theorist, and some may not correspond to any. My purpose is to
systematically survey the options for explaining the explanatory gap by appeal to the
peculiar features of phenomenal concepts, not to take issue with any one such account. 2
Before beginning this survey of the options, I want to emphasize that any materialist
proposal for explaining the gap must meet a condition I will call the Materialist
Constraint: namely, that no appeal be made in the explanation to any mental property or
relation that is basic. For instance, suppose a materialist argued that she could explain
why there should be an explanatory gap (even though phenomenal properties were
constituted by physical-functional properties) by appeal to some basic mental relation
like acquaintance that held between subjects of experience and their brain states when
conceiving of those states via phenomenal concepts. Acquaintance itself is not given a
materialist explanation, but appealing to it, let us say, removes the mystery of the gap
with respect to phenomenal properties. How appeal to acquaintance might do the job is
not important for now (I will return to this later). The point is that it does the materialist
no good to explain away the gap by violating her own doctrine—that is, by admitting into
her ontology a mental relation that is basic. Thus, in our examination of the various
proposals to follow, it will be crucial to note that violation of the Materialist Constraint
immediately disqualifies a proposal because it ceases to be a materialist explanation of
the gap. Whatever it is that makes phenomenal concepts special, it must be possible to
see how this feature can be implemented in a physical system by physical mechanisms.
I begin with perhaps the simplest idea. Phenomenal concepts are representational
primitives, and therefore thoughts containing them cannot be derived from thoughts that
do not contain them. The mere difference in mental “vocabulary” between phenomenal
language and nonphenomenal language explains why no purported explanation
containing only nonphenomenal language in the explanans and phenomenal language in
the explanandum can succeed.
This account is based on two principal ideas: that the explanatory gap is primarily a
derivability gap, and that most ordinary lexicalized concepts possess
end p.150

analyses that in principle allow their elimination. As can be seen from the discussion
above, both ideas are necessary to make this move work. I noted that one common reply
to the conceivability argument is to maintain that metaphysical necessity can exist even
in the absence of a priori derivability, and to point to the standard theoretical reductions
as evidence of this. My counter-reply was to emphasize that we still need to explain the
core contrast between the psychophysical case and the standard cases. Clearly, absence of
derivability can't be the distinguishing factor, since we lack upward derivability in both
cases. For these materialists, then, appeal to the fact that phenomenal concepts are
representational primitives doesn't help, since it doesn't distinguish them from many
nonphenomenal concepts.
However, I am now imagining a materialist who agrees that in general, most macro-level
descriptions can be derived from the relevant micro-level descriptions. We do have
upward derivability in the case of water, heat, and all the other standard cases of
theoretical reduction. By admitting that upward derivability is normally present when
there is upward metaphysical necessitation, the materialist can pin the core contrast
between the psychophysical case and the standard cases on the presence or absence of
upward derivability. Then, contrary to the antimaterialist's insistence that this lack of
derivability reflects a metaphysical distinction in properties, the materialist maintains that
it only reflects the primitive nature of phenomenal concepts. They seem to be about
distinct properties, but that is only because of the distinctive character of the concepts by
which we conceive them.
I present this option only to set it aside for now. I have two reasons. First, this position
seems quite implausible on its face, and few materialists would endorse it. One has to buy
the idea that only phenomenal concepts (along with logical, mathematical, and indexical
concepts, and perhaps the concept of causation) are primitives, and that all of our other
concepts are ultimately definable in terms of them. This sure sounds like the discredited
doctrine of phenomenalism. Second, even if one did bite this bullet, I think there are
independent reasons for thinking that mere lack of derivability is not the principal issue
here. But to make that case we need to survey some of the other options first.
The first move was to account for the special character of phenomenal concepts by
appealing to their status as conceptual primitives. This didn't work because many
nonphenomenal concepts are primitive as well. The next move also involves imputing a
kind of primitiveness to phenomenal concepts, but this time it is not conceptual or
representational but rather epistemic or judgmental. The idea is this. For most concepts,
when we apply them in judgment—for example, judging that there's a dog in front of me,
there's water in that glass, and so on—our application of the concept to an object depends
on the application of other concepts. These other judgments serve as evidence for the
judgment in question. So I judge that there's a dog in front of me because it appears to me
that there's a dog in front of me; similarly for the judgment that there's water in that glass.
Of course I needn't consciously go through this inference. But if someone were to
challenge my claim about the dog or the water, my justification would certainly involve
mentioning how things visually appear to me.
end p.151

Now, when it comes to phenomenal judgments—say, I'm having a reddish visual


experience, I'm having a headache—there don't seem to be any epistemic liaisons of this
sort to serve as evidence. I judge that I'm having a reddish visual experience because I
am; the same for the headache. After all, what else could I point to? In these cases, the
phenomenal states themselves seem directly to give rise to the judgments with no
evidentiary intermediate. 3 Notice that the phenomenal states do not themselves serve as
evidence, since evidence already presupposes conceptualization. Rather, it's just that we
are set up, when things work normally, to (be in a cognitive position to) judge that we are
having a certain experience whenever we are.
Let's suppose that epistemic primitiveness really is a distinctive feature of phenomenal
concepts. We still need to know why the fact that phenomenal concepts are applied in this
epistemically primitive manner should give rise to the explanatory gap. How is that
account supposed to go?
Perhaps the idea is this. The fact that most ordinary concepts possess epistemic liaisons
of a type that phenomenal concepts lack helps to explain why accounts of underlying
mechanisms in these cases yield satisfying explanations. For instance, when I identify
something as water, I do this on the basis of its taste, visual appearance, feel, and the like.
The chemical account of water not only provides a candidate for water's identity but also
links that candidate to the mechanisms responsible for these other features by means of
which I normally identify water. By thus embedding the concept of H 2 O in a story that
connects not just to the concept of water but also to all the other concepts of its epistemic
liaisons, the sense that we have a genuinely explanatory account of water is generated.
But if this is how the appeal to epistemic primitiveness is supposed to work, it doesn't in
fact succeed. Though it may be true that phenomenal concepts can be applied in
judgment without the application of other concepts in an evidentiary manner, this doesn't
mean that phenomenal concepts are bereft of relevant links to other concepts. In
particular, an account of the mechanisms underlying the production and interaction of
phenomenal states would link up with many other concepts, especially nonphenomenal
ones. We have a rich body of beliefs concerning the causes and effects of phenomenal
states—composed of both phenomenal and nonphenomenal concepts in the very same
cognitive states—and they constitute a ready set of explananda for theoretical accounts of
phenomenal experience. Phenomenal concepts are well integrated with other concepts, as
the very facts mentioned in the paragraph above attest. After all, what are these other
concepts that are connected to our application of the concept of water in judgment if not
phenomenal concepts concerning the way water affects our sensory experience? So the
mere fact that we are built to apply these representations without evidential
intermediaries, and that they are activated only after the instantiation of the relevant
phenomenal states, doesn't explain why thinking of phenomenal states by way of
end p.152

them should make these states seem so arbitrarily connected to their neurological
correlates.
I think there is a lesson to learn from the inadequacy of these first two accounts. What
we're trying to explain is this. When we entertain these two different concepts of what is
supposed to be the same property, we can't resist thinking of them as picking out distinct
properties. We were trying to explain this phenomenon by appealing to a kind of
cognitive isolation distinctive of one of the two concepts, the phenomenal one. But we
saw that phenomenal concepts maintained links to nonphenomenal concepts, and though
they may be primitive and unanalyzable, that didn't distinguish them from many
nonphenomenal concepts. So it seems as if cognitive isolation isn't really the issue.
Perhaps the answer lies in the relation between phenomenal concepts and their objects,
phenomenal properties, rather than in the relation between phenomenal and
nonphenomenal concepts. That is, maybe there's something special in the way
phenomenal concepts represent phenomenal properties that accounts for this strong sense
we have that when entertaining both a phenomenal and a nonphenomenal concept, we are
dealing with distinct phenomena. Of course any model of that special relation between
phenomenal concept and phenomenal property must respect the Materialist Constraint if
it is going to defend materialism against the challenge of the explanatory gap.
Further support for the idea that what's special about phenomenal concepts is the way
they relate to their objects comes from another significant feature of phenomenal
concepts that calls out for explanation: the fact that only subjects who have actually
experienced the relevant phenomenal properties are capable of possessing the
corresponding phenomenal concepts. For example, one of the main ideas underlying the
Mary case is that one cannot employ a phenomenal concept unless one has personally
instantiated the property it is a concept of. The reason Mary supposedly learns something
new, is able only upon leaving the Jackson room to judge “So that's what it's like to see
red,” is that one can't employ, or even possess, phenomenal concepts until one has
experienced the corresponding phenomenal states. Whereas one doesn't need to have
instantiated constricting blood vessels in order to have a concept of them (the relevant
nonphenomenal concept, that is), one does need to have experienced a headache to have
that special first-person phenomenal concept of a headache. Let us refer to this feature of
phenomenal concepts as the etiological constraint. Clearly there is something special in
the way phenomenal concepts and their corresponding properties are related that explains
the etiological constraint, and it stands to reason that whatever this special feature is, it
also explains why there is an explanatory gap as well. In the next section we'll explore
one way of trying to capture this special nature of the phenomenal concept-phenomenal
property relation.
The model to be explored in this section incorporates the features of conceptual and
epistemic primitiveness, but it adds a crucial element: phenomenal concepts are taken to
involve an essential demonstrative component. I am going to use John Perry's (2001)
discussion of Jackson's knowledge argument as my target here. He doesn't explicitly
address the issue of the explanatory gap, but, as discussed earlier, the same
end p.153

issues involved in the problem of the explanatory gap come out in the knowledge
argument. When necessary I'll make explicit the connection between the two.
Before presenting Perry's response to the knowledge argument, and in view of our
discussion of the etiological constraint above, there is one preliminary point worth
making. When considering Mary's new knowledge, it might be tempting to try to dismiss
the problem immediately as follows. Look, one might say, of course Mary couldn't
predict what it would be like to see red from what she knew of the physics and
physiology of vision while in the Jackson room. After all, in order to possess the relevant
concept—the phenomenal concept—with which to frame the relevant judgment
concerning what it is like, one must first have the experience of seeing red oneself, and
Mary hadn't had that yet. Her new knowledge upon emerging from the room is merely a
matter of acquiring a new concept.
Though in fact the accounts we are going to investigate incorporate some aspects of this
response, it's important to see from the outset that saying this much alone is clearly not
sufficient. Nida-Rümelin (1995) has made the case quite convincingly. She asks us to
consider Marianna, who starts out just like Mary, but instead of seeing a ripe tomato upon
release, is ushered into a room with many abstract colored shapes hung on the walls, with
no labels to say which color is which. She is asked if she can tell which of these is the
color of the sky, of ripe tomatoes, and so on. It seems pretty clear that Marianna would
not be in a position to know. When she is told that this one is red, she now learns what it
is like to see red (or see ripe tomatoes). The knowledge seems new, despite the fact that
she already possesses the first-person phenomenal concept of what it is like. Thus her
inability to predict what it would be like, or to explain what it is like, given the
conceptual resources available to her in the room is not merely a matter of her lacking the
relevant experience. Coming to have the experience alone, and thereby acquiring the
phenomenal concept, is not sufficient. The right sort of connection must also be made,
and it is her inability to automatically establish that cognitive link between her previously
acquired physical concepts and her newly acquired phenomenal concept that must be
explained.
This is where the demonstrative account comes in. Perry asks us to consider the
following situation. He has long admired Fred Dretske's work and knows it fairly well. In
particular, he knows that Dretske is the author of Knowledge and the Flow of
Information. However, he has never met Dretske and doesn't know what he looks like. At
a party he meets a man he doesn't recognize and falls into a conversation about the topic
of knowledge and information. He suggests to his conversational partner that he read
Knowledge and the Flow of Information, proceeding then to present the main argument of
the book. Much to his embarrassment, the man whom he's lecturing on the book informs
him that he in fact wrote Knowledge and the Flow of Information.
So let's consider the following two statements:

1. Dretske wrote Knowledge and the Flow of Information.


2. This man wrote Knowledge and the Flow of Information.

Perry clearly knew (1) before meeting Dretske at the party. But (2) seems to be
something he learned only after Dretske informed him of it in the middle of their
end p.154

conversation. Before that moment, while conversing with Dretske (but not knowing his
name), Perry presumably would have doubted (2) (otherwise Perry wouldn't have
presumed to recommend that he read the book). So (2) seems to be a bit of new
knowledge. Yet if we take “this man” to directly refer to Dretske, statements (1) and (2)
express the same proposition, describe the same fact. Furthermore, though Perry doesn't
himself say this, there doesn't seem to be any explanatory gap here. That is, we don't find
ourselves puzzling about how this man could be Dretske.
The moral for the case of Mary is supposed to be straightforward. Let Qr stand for Mary's
concept of the qualitative character the average human being experiences when seeing a
ripe tomato in normal light. In the Jackson room, where Mary learns all the relevant
physical and functional facts about visual experience, Mary learns in particular that

3.When Sally (a normal perceiver) sees a ripe tomato (in normal light), she occupies a
state of type Qr.

After emerging from the Jackson room, while herself looking at a ripe tomato, Mary now
comes to believe (she knows enough about her own brain and visual system to know that
she herself is a normal perceiver):

4.When Sally sees a ripe tomato she occupies a state with this qualitative character
(demonstrating the qualitative character of her own state).

Since, according to the materialist, the qualitative character she's picking out with her
demonstrative is in fact Qr, (3) and (4) express the same proposition, describe the same
fact. The problem with saying this is supposed to be that (4) seems to be a new belief, a
new piece of knowledge. However, just as the epistemic novelty of (2) in no way
impugns the identity of this man with Dretske, so too, argues Perry, the epistemic novelty
of (4) in no way impugns the identity of this qualitative character with Qr. Furthermore,
just as we have no problem understanding how this man could be Dretske, we should
have no problem understanding how this qualitative character should be Qr.
Perry's analysis of what's going on in the party situation is instructive. He asks us to
imagine that the mind is like a three-story building. On the first story are perceptual
buffers, where files are opened for objects currently being perceived. Various features
concerning the look of these objects are stored in these files. On the third floor are what
he calls “detached” files, relatively permanent files for various objects that are not
attached to any current perceptions. They store all sorts of information from all sorts of
sources, including memories of past perceptual encounters if there were any and
information gleaned from reading and reports from others. The second story is dedicated
to connecting files from stories one and three. Sockets hang down from story three, and
plugs lead up from story one. When an object is recognized or when one learns the
identity of an object currently perceived for the first time, the plug from the first-story file
connects to the socket from the appropriate third-story file. So, in the party case, when
Dretske told Perry who he was, the plug from the perceptual buffer file dubbed “this
man” connected to the socket hanging down from the upper-story file named “Dretske,”
and this
end p.155

allowed information to flow freely back and forth between the two files. Both files, of
course, were about, or “of,” the same man all along.
As an armchair first approximation to what goes on in perceptual identification and
recognition, this story seems pretty good. Let's suppose it's right. So when Perry finally
learns that he's talking to Dretske himself—when the plug enters the socket—some
genuinely new information does become available to Perry: namely, what Dretske looks
like. “This man,” directly referential though it may be, does bring along with it the
information that the object referred to is currently being perceived to have various
sensible properties. That Dretske is currently being perceived by Perry to have these
visual properties is genuinely new information, information not contained in the detached
“Dretske” file he maintained up until now in his third-story file drawer. Though we do
identify this man with Dretske, we don't identify any of the properties represented in the
perceptual buffer file with any of the properties represented in the previously detached
third-story file. Thus the sense that (2) expresses in some way a new piece of knowledge
is easily explained by the fact that Perry now knows that the object presenting certain
visual properties to him is the same object that wrote Knowledge and the Flow of
Information. The object is the same, but not the properties associated with the two ways
of picking it out.
But now, if we apply this model to Mary's case, the original problem reemerges. The idea
is supposed to be that in formulating the thought expressed by (4), Mary is demonstrating
her experience in much the same way that Perry is demonstrating Dretske in (2).
Presumably this is not supposed to be perception in the normal sense, but it is supposed
to bear a strong resemblance to it. In particular, we are supposed to think of the new
knowledge as a matter of linking plug and socket, as in the Dretske case. But there is a
problem with this. Remember that Qr stands for Mary's previously detached concept of
the relevant qualitative character. The file contains all sorts of neurophysiological,
computational, and optical information. “This qualitative character” stands for the buffer
file. But what does it contain? Well, it surely seems to contain some substantive idea of
what it's like. The problem, then, is this. If we push the analogy with the Dretske case,
then we can see easily enough how the two files can be “of” the same object—or, in this
case, state. But an integral part of the Dretske case was that the information contained
within the two files was different. If we maintain that aspect of the analogy in the Mary
case, however, we end up reintroducing a new property, and we're back to where we
started.
Well, maybe we're not supposed to take the analogy that literally. Maybe the feature of
the Dretske case that involved the file folder containing perceptually derived information
was inessential to the story. Perhaps we should think of the “buffer” in the Mary case as
containing merely generic, topic-neutral information. That is, her first-person
phenomenal representation has something like the form of “this sensory state,” or “this
qualitative character,” so that the specific character is not itself represented in the file
folder itself. In this way it would be quite different from the sort of file we're imagining
in the standard perceptual buffer case. Or why not go further and think of the relevant file
folder as just empty? Perhaps now we have a model of what's going on with Mary that
explains her new “knowledge” in a benign way.
end p.156

A moment's reflection, however, reveals that the “empty file folder” idea won't work, for
once we drop the assumption that the buffer file folder contains at least minimal
information, we lose any grip on what's going on. Demonstratives, after all, are almost
always associated with perceptual contents of some sort. I pick out something I see, hear,
or touch with the expression, or thought, “that F” (where F represents some sortal or
other), or even just “that.” Even in the case where no sortal is employed, it's still clear
that the demonstration is anchored to some perceptual representation. The whole idea of
buffers containing files really only makes sense when there's something to put in the files.
So although I can perfectly well make sense of the idea of demonstrating my current
experience, we still need a model of what fills the role of the content material that
anchors the demonstration: what's inside the buffer's file folder. The demonstrative itself
cannot do all the work that's required here.
Demonstratives, then, seem to require some associated content material in order to lock
onto their objects (whether they be objects or properties, particulars or universals). But
there's still the option that that content material is quite thin and generic, just a matter of
providing a sortal like “type of qualitative character” or “type of sensory state.” So the
idea is this. When Mary entertains (4), she is identifying the same property, or type of
state, that is picked out by her rich scientific description with the one picked out by her
demonstration of “this state,” where the only substantive characterization available in the
demonstrative file is that it is a state she is in. No qualitative or descriptive content is
associated with this way of picking it out.
Returning to the Dretske case, the better analogy would be the following scenario. I've
met Fred Dretske before, know perfectly well what he looks like, sounds like, and so on.
However, it turns out that he has a twin brother who looks exactly like him, talks like
him, and holds the same views on knowledge and information. In fact, his name is “Fred”
as well. Of course, Fred2 (as I'll call him, not what he calls himself) didn't write
Knowledge and the Flow of Information. So when speaking with someone whom I know
to be one of the Freds at a party, I might wonder which one it is. Then, after Fred tells me
he wrote Knowledge and the Flow of Information, I will have learned something new,
which I can express as (2).
This situation is now quite similar to the one we're imagining Mary is in when she
expresses (4). It's not quite the same, since, as in Perry's scenario, it is still the case that
the perceptual buffer's file folder contains quite a bit of information concerning the look
and sound of the man I'm speaking to. However, because of my previously established
familiarity with Fred, none of this information (or, at least, none of it that remains with
me, or achieves salience) contained within the buffer's file is new. The file's plug
connecting to the socket from above achieves no information flow over and above the
mere fact that this is the one that that upper-story file is about (as opposed to the one I
have under the name “Fred2”).
However, I think it's clear that this modified Dretske scenario is not a good model for
what's going on in the Mary case, precisely because, on this scenario, no real new
information is introduced via the demonstrative presentation. Mary doesn't seem to learn
just that the state she can describe in such rich theoretical vocabulary is happening here
and now; that it's this one. She forms a new
end p.157

conception, one with substantive and determinate content, of this state. The situation is
much more like Perry's original Dretske case, where he learns what the author of
Knowledge and the Flow of Information looks like. That is, in the Mary case, just as in
Perry's version of the Dretske case, the new information is not constituted only by the
mere linking of buffer file with detached file, but also by the fact that there is something
new in that buffer file itself: a new way of representing this particular type of qualitative
character. It is to this new representation, contained within the buffer file, that we must
look for the phenomenal concept we're after.
Before turning to our next option, I want to return to a thread I earlier left hanging. Recall
that I described a materialist who accepted the view that most ordinary nonphenomenal
concepts were analyzable in such a way as to permit upward derivations from the relevant
microlevel descriptions, but who maintained that phenomenal concepts were primitives
and therefore were not subject to upward derivations. On this view, it was the presence of
upward derivability in the standard nonphenomenal cases and the absence of it in the
phenomenal case that explained the core contrast. However, our investigation of the
demonstrative model shows that mere absence of upward derivability cannot be the
whole story. Descriptions that essentially involve indexicals or demonstratives cannot be
derived from descriptions lacking them. Yet, as we see from the modified Dretske case,
no sense of substantively new information, or a distinct property, is automatically
engendered. There must be something about the way that phenomenal concepts afford a
grasp of their objects—afford a kind of “cognitive presence” to phenomenal properties—
that explains why they seem distinct from anything conceived by another method.
Providing a model of this relation, of what this cognitive presence amounts to, that
accords with the Materialist Constraint is the challenge.
I used the term “cognitive presence” to try to express the unique relation that phenomenal
concepts seem to bear to what they represent, but I might just as easily have used the
traditional Russellian term “acquaintance.” Russell (1912, chap. 5) divided the objects of
knowledge and thought into those that were known by acquaintance and those that were
known by description. Among the objects knowable by acquaintance were the immediate
contents of sensory experience. Most ordinary objects were known only by description,
where the descriptions in question contained logical terms and those representing items
with which we were acquainted. Thus for Russell, all epistemic access and reference
bottomed out with acquaintance.
Let's put aside the foundationalist epistemology and theory of reference, allowing that
terms representing items with which we are not acquainted might pick out their objects,
and afford epistemic access to them, without employing modes of presentation that are
ultimately constructed from objects with which we are acquainted. One might still find
the distinction between items (whether they be objects or properties) with which we are
acquainted and those with which we are not acquainted useful; though, if we are
eschewing Russell's foundationalism, the latter category shouldn't be characterized as
those items we know “by description.” Let's allow, instead, that there are two forms of
direct reference: one involving acquaintance and one not.
end p.158

The essential idea behind Russell's distinction still remains. When it comes to the
properties of our immediate experience, we stand in a kind of epistemic relation to them
that is more intimate, more substantive, than the kind of relation that obtains between our
minds and other items. The properties of experience are, to use my other phrase,
cognitively present to us. The idea, then, is to explain why it so strongly seems to be the
case that what is presented by way of phenomenal concepts is distinct from what is
presented by nonphenomenal concepts by appeal to the distinction between acquaintance
and other forms of representation. Because phenomenal concepts afford acquaintance,
whereas nonphenomenal concepts do not, even if they in fact pick out the very same
properties, we find it cognitively difficult to see how this can be.
Perhaps we can put it this way. Nonphenomenal concepts either pick out their objects by
way of substantive modes of presentation constructed out of other concepts, or by direct
labeling that involves no substantive mode of presentation at all—merely, say, a causal
relation of some sort between the concept and what it's a concept of. By contrast,
phenomenal concepts employ a substantive mode of presentation and use what they are
about—phenomenal properties—as the modes of presentation. 4 Since phenomenal
properties are themselves involved in the very mode of presentation when conceived via
phenomenal concepts, but not when conceived via nonphenomenal concepts, the referents
of the two sorts of concepts will present themselves to us as distinct, even though they are
identical.
I realize that the notions of acquaintance, of cognitive presence, and of phenomenal
properties being their own modes of presentation are all still too metaphorical. But let's
suppose we have enough of a handle on them to proceed. What we're looking for is some
model of this special cognitive relation that supposedly obtains between a phenomenal
concept and its corresponding phenomenal property that simultaneously satisfies the
Materialist Constraint. This means that whatever acquaintance is, it can't be a basic
relation; it must be constructible out of other, nonmental relations.
In this section, I want to investigate the possibilities for essentially providing a materialist
model of acquaintance. There are two approaches I want to look at, and they share a
crucial feature: both try to incorporate an instance of the phenomenal property into the
phenomenal concept itself. In this way, they attempt to capture the idea that the
phenomenal property (or an instance of it) serves as its own mode of presentation, which
we can for now take to be the essential element in the relation of acquaintance.
The first approach is really a modification of the demonstrative model. In standard cases
of demonstrative representations, there are three elements in play: the demonstrative
component itself, a perceptual representation, and the object demonstrated. Notice that
the demonstrative representation, or concept, itself contains only the first two elements
mentioned. The object is not itself part of the
end p.159

representation; it is merely what is represented. So, for instance, in Perry's Dretske case,
his thought “that man” picks out Dretske by way of demonstrating whatever it is that
presents the particular appearance he is currently perceptually aware of. In terms of his
file model, the perceptual information is contained in the file, while the file itself plays
the role of the demonstrative element. “That man” refers to whomever this perceptual
information is about.
But suppose that, instead of treating the demonstrative representation as composed of the
first two elements, which together pick out the third, we collapse the second two elements
into one. That is, the demonstrative representation in this case is taken to consist of the
demonstrative element together with what is demonstrated, the phenomenal state (or, to
be more precise, the property it is currently instantiating). If we like, in keeping with
Perry's metaphorical architecture, we can picture this as putting the phenomenal state
itself into the demonstrative file folder. A phenomenal concept, then, is a complex state
consisting of a demonstrative together with the state demonstrated, interpreted to
represent the relevant property instantiated by the demonstrated state. To be acquainted
with a property is to demonstrate an instance of it in a state that includes the instance as a
component of the representation.
The second approach is to forget about the demonstrative element altogether, and just let
tokens of phenomenal states themselves serve as representations of the phenomenal
properties they instantiate. In other words, phenomenal concepts are tokened by the very
same states that serve to instantiate the properties they represent. Again, this is a very
graphic way to implement the notion that a phenomenal property serves as its own mode
of presentation.
As a first step in evaluating these two approaches, I want to argue that in fact there really
is no significant difference between them; they amount to the same model in the end. The
argument takes the form of showing how each version presupposes, or incorporates, the
other one. Let's start with how the demonstrative version incorporates the self-
representation version. Notice that the idea of putting the phenomenal state itself—the
demonstratum (or the current instantiation of the demonstratum)—into the demonstrative
file itself, as playing the role of mode of presentation, is really quite odd. In the standard
file story, there are two ways of looking at the contents of the file. For instance, in Perry's
original Dretske case, the demonstrative buffer file contains the perceptual information
concerning the appearance of the man with whom Perry is speaking. This perceptual
information, however, can be thought of as a physical token of some sort—imagine that it
is literally a picture stored in a file—or it can be thought of as a representation of an
appearance. Clearly in Perry's story about meeting Dretske, it is the second way of
thinking about the contents of the file that is relevant. The intrinsic features of the vehicle
are irrelevant.
The point is that the contents of the file, which serve as the mode of presentation, bring
us into contact with the object of the file by representing certain of its properties. It is a
total distortion of the “file” model to stick the object of the file itself into the file and say
that it serves as its own mode of presentation, unless, of course, we are already taking for
granted that it is representing itself. But then we might as well do away with the file
altogether. The entire burden of representing the
end p.160

phenomenal property is borne by the phenomenal state itself. To let the object itself serve
as the mode of presentation of the demonstrative representation that picks it out is already
to presume the kind of self-representation involved in the second model.
Now let's take it in the other direction. The idea is supposed to be that when a
phenomenal property is instantiated by a token phenomenal state, it is thereby
represented by this token. The question that immediately arises, of course, is how the
representation relation is established in this case. After all, normally, instantiating a
property is neither necessary nor sufficient for representing it. So what is it in this case
that makes the instantiation of the property also a representation of it?
Clearly, the answer must lie with the functional role occupied by phenomenal states.
Most representations represent what they do by virtue of some causal/ informational link
with their referents. In some cases, however, semantic significance can arise purely as a
matter of functional role. A good example of this might be the logical constants. It's hard
to see how a symbol meaning conjunction could acquire that meaning by virtue of some
causal/informational link with the relevant truth-function: what would that mean?
However, one could see how a symbol might count as representing conjunction by virtue
of its interactions with other symbols. Using this analogy, one might imagine that by
virtue of some particular pattern of causal interactions with other representational states,
phenomenal states could acquire interpretations that involved reference to the very
phenomenal properties they instantiate.
Let's assume, then, that the representation of phenomenal properties is effected in some
way by functional role. There are two ways to interpret this appeal to functional role. The
first is to imagine that for each phenomenal property, there is a unique functional role that
serves to designate it (or, to be more precise, is such that by virtue of playing that role, a
state represents it). There are two reasons this couldn't be right. First, there are just too
many distinguishable phenomenal properties for there to be a distinct type of functional
role corresponding to each. It's also unclear how a functional role could even serve this
function of picking out a particular phenomenal property. But even if this problem could
be overcome, this way of interpreting the appeal to functional role doesn't really capture
the whole idea of using a phenomenal state as its own mode of presentation, of realizing
the relation of acquaintance. After all, if playing functional role Fr is what makes a state
represent phenomenal property R, then the fact that it's an instance of R that is playing the
role representing R would be beside the point. It could just as easily have been some
other state. What's needed, then, is a way of interpreting the appeal to functional role that
takes directly into account the identity of the role filler.
The second way of interpreting the appeal to functional role is to imagine a single type of
role covering all phenomenal states/properties, one that serves to pick out whatever
phenomenal property it is that is instanced by the token filling the role. This would make
the identity of the token phenomenal state an essential part of the representation. In this
case, we would have a genuine case of self-representation. Phenomenal states, by virtue
of playing this particular functional
end p.161

role, would be interpreted as “saying” something like “the phenomenal property I am


currently instantiating” or just “this phenomenal property.” 5
At this point it should be clear why the self-representation model really amounts to the
same thing as the demonstrative model. The functional role by virtue of which the
phenomenal state is representing the phenomenal property it instantiates serves as a
demonstrative, or indexical. How, after all, would one implement such a role? One
obvious way would be to use location. Symbols occupying certain locations would be
interpreted as referring to themselves, or something like that. But then the location is
really just like a pointer; it has the same significance as a symbol saying “this one.” 6
The crucial feature of the model under consideration—whether or not an explicitly
demonstrative element is present—is the presence of the phenomenal state itself within
the implementation of the corresponding phenomenal concept. The physical presence of
an instance of the phenomenal property is thereby supposed to explain the especially
intimate cognitive relation afforded by phenomenal concepts. In other words, a
phenomenal concept affords acquaintance with the relevant phenomenal property by
containing an instance of that property within it.
It's hard to imagine how else a physicalist could capture cognitive immediacy, or
acquaintance. If physically placing the relevant state right into the structure that realizes a
phenomenal concept doesn't do it, what could? Yet, it seems to me that putting the matter
this starkly merely highlights the model's inadequacy. Acquaintance, or cognitive
presence, or whatever it is that is supposed to constitute the especially immediate and
intimate cognitive relation between phenomenal concepts and their objects, is just that: a
cognitive relation. It is not at all clear why, or how, physical presence translates into
cognitive presence. In general, when considering the cognitive properties of a
representational system, the physical identities of the implementing tokens are irrelevant.
What matters is how the various tokens relate to each other. Their relations to their
objects matter only to the extent that it is necessary to determine from those relations
what they represent. But once that is determined, it is unclear how differences in the
mechanisms of the representation relation are supposed to explain differences in
cognitive significance.
We must remember here what we're after. The bottom line is that we want an explanation
of the existence of the explanatory gap that satisfies the Materialist Constraint. Why
should the phenomenal character of a sensory experience seem inexplicable in terms of
the corresponding physiological states? In particular, how could there even be a question
of explaining the phenomenal character if it just is a certain physiological property?
Furthermore, as we saw earlier, when considering creatures physically different from us,
we can't help feeling that there is a
end p.162
substantive, nonsemantic open question regarding the nature and/or existence of their
conscious experience. But this must be an illusion if the materialist identity theory is
correct. Clearly something about the way phenomenal states present themselves to us in
the first-person mode make them seem distinct from whatever is represented by their
third-person descriptions. This is the source of the idea that the explanatory gap arises
here, in the psychophysical case, but not in other cases of theoretical reductions, because
of the peculiar concepts by which we represent phenomenal properties in standard first-
person access.
After surveying various candidates for the peculiar feature on which to pin the blame, we
saw that it isn't merely a matter of representational or epistemic primitiveness. The
problem isn't that the conception of phenomenal properties afforded by phenomenal
concepts is too thin, lacking connections to other concepts. If anything, the problem
seems to be quite the opposite. The first-person access we have to the properties of
experience seems quite rich; we are afforded a very substantive and determinate
conception of a reddish experience merely by having it. The idea, then, is that it makes
sense that we would find it hard to see how that with which we were acquainted in this
way could be the very same thing as that which is picked out without the benefit of
acquaintance. 7 But if this is what we're after, then it doesn't help merely to find some
functional difference between phenomenal concepts and others. We need to find a
difference that plausibly reconstructs the acquaintance/non-acquaintance distinction.
The proposal under consideration is supposed to do just that. Acquaintance is explained
by the physical presence of the represented within the representation itself. But, I ask
again: How is physical presence an explanation of cognitive presence? Sure, when we
think of a relation such as acquaintance, with its sense of immediacy, metaphorical
language about “sticking the object right in there” irresistibly comes to mind. But this
language is metaphorical. The current proposal is to solve the problem by taking it
literally.
Perhaps, in the end, this is the right way to go. But we are still owed an account of how
physical presence alone is responsible for cognitive presence. That is, how does the
presence of the relevant state within the physical implementation of the representation
become something of which we are aware? It still smacks of that famous cartoon of the
physicist scribbling all these formulas on the blackboard with this one circle in the middle
that says “and then a miracle occurs.” The transition from physical containment to
awareness—the special kind allegedly afforded by phenomenal concepts—is still an
inexplicable transition. It is subject to its own explanatory gap, just as much as is the
original relation between phenomenal properties and their physical correlates. 8
end p.163

There are two points I want to address in conclusion. First, someone might object to my
entire argument as follows. 9 What you are asking for, goes the objection, is, in effect, to
bridge the explanatory gap. But this is precisely what we materialists admit can't be done,
as one could predict from the various models surveyed here. So you are asking for the
impossible, and the inability to do the impossible does not count against any theory.
My response is that I'm only requiring of the various models surveyed that they
accomplish what they are advertised to accomplish: namely, explain why there is an
explanatory gap. Granted, I'm asking for an explanation. But remember the original gap
separated phenomenal properties from their underlying physical mechanisms. This gap I
am not asking to be bridged. However, materialists claim that though they cannot explain
phenomenal properties in terms of physical properties, they can explain why they can't
explain it. The various models of how to
end p.164

implement phenomenal concepts is supposed to accomplish precisely that explanatory


task. So, since the challenge that materialists say they can meet is itself to provide an
explanation—in this case, of the fact that there is an explanatory gap between the
physical and the phenomenal—it's a perfectly legitimate objection to point out that they
haven't provided the requisite explanation. One might say that there now is a second
explanatory gap: between implementations of cognitive architecture and whatever it is
about phenomenal concepts—in my terms, that they afford genuine cognitive presence to
phenomenal properties—that is responsible for the original explanatory gap. If one
thought the original explanatory gap was a problem and needed to be explained away,
then one ought to be bothered by this one as well.
Notice that nothing I've argued is intended to show that phenomenal properties aren't
physical properties in the end. For that matter, phenomenal concepts may indeed be
physically realized in one of the ways described above. The problem is that we don't
understand how either story could be true, how the features we encounter in experience,
or the encountering relation itself, could turn out to be a neural mechanism. This is
indeed a situation materialists should find troubling.
Finally, I want to end with a bit of speculation. Suppose I'm right that we can't now
imagine how a materialist story of phenomenal concepts would go. No mere physical-
causal mechanism can provide the kind of cognitive presence we seem to enjoy with
respect to our phenomenal experience. So what is it we need? It seems to me that we need
something like the old-fashioned relation of acquaintance. We are acquainted with our
experience, and as acquaintance presents properties, not merely represents them, we find
it difficult to integrate what is presented with what is only represented in a way that
allows the latter to explain the former. If acquaintance itself cannot be explained in terms
of physical-causal mechanisms, as I claim (at least so far) it can't, then we have to
contemplate the possibility that it is a brute relation. If so, then the Materialist Constraint
is violated, and materialism is false.
It could turn out, then, that materialism is false not because phenomenal properties
themselves are not physical—they may yet be for all we know. Rather, it would be false,
on this view, because somehow we embody a relation to them that is itself brute and
irreducible to physical relations. Is this a coherent position? Could phenomenal properties
be physical while acquaintance is not? I don't know, but the question, to my mind,
deserves exploration.
But haven't we already done away with acquaintance, sense data, and the “myth of the
given”? One answer is to just say, “maybe not.” On the other hand, nothing in what I've
said entails that there are sense data or that acquaintance plays the same foundational
epistemic role assigned to it by Russell and the positivists. However, I do want to
acknowledge that there is much to puzzle about in allowing a relation of acquaintance.
Does acquaintance entail “revelation,” the doctrine that the essential nature of that with
which we are acquainted is revealed thereby? Indeed, is the notion even coherent in the
end? That is, if we abandon materialism for its inability to explain phenomenal
experience, do we then flirt with outright incoherence instead? These, too, are questions
to which I have no answer at present. But, again, I think they deserve exploration.
end p.165

Acknowledgments

Earlier versions of this chapter were presented to the NEH Institute on Consciousness and
Intentionality, University of California—Santa Cruz (2002); the Jowett Society at Oxford
University; the University of St. Andrews; Ohio State University; Bowling Green
University; the conference on “Consciousness: Conceptual and Explanatory Issues” in
Magdeburg, Germany; the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand; the
Australian National University; and the University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. I
want to thank all the members of these audiences for their helpful comments and
criticisms. I especially want to thank Katalin Balog, Janet Levin, and Susanna Siegel for
their comments on earlier drafts.

References

Balog, K. (2002). The “Quotational Account” of Phenomenal Concepts. Unpublished.


Hill, C. S., and McLaughlin, B. P. (1999). There Are Fewer Things in Reality Than Are
Dreamt of in Chalmers' Philosophy. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 59:
445–54.
Jackson, F. (1982). Epiphenomenal Qualia. Philosophical Quarterly 32: 127–36.

Loar, B. (1990/97). Phenomenal States. In Philosophical Perspectives 4: Action Theory


and Philosophy of Mind, ed. J. Tomberlin: 81–108. Atascadero, Calif: Ridgeview.
Revised version in The Nature of Consciousness, ed. N. Block, O. Flanagan, and G.
Güzeldere: 597–616. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1997.
Nida-Rümelin, M. (1995). What Mary Couldn't Know: Belief about Phenomenal States.
In Conscious Experience, ed. T. Metzinger: 219–42. Paderborn: Schöningh/ Imprint
Academic.
Papineau, D. (2002). Thinking about Consciousness. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Perry, J. (2001). Knowledge, Possibility, and Consciousness. Cambridge: MIT Press.


Russell, B. (1912). The Problems of Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press.
Sturgeon, S. (2000). Matters of Mind. London: Routledge.
Tye, M. (2000). Consciousness, Color, and Content. Cambridge: MIT Press.
end p.166

nine Phenomenal Concepts and the Explanatory Gap


David J. Chalmers

Confronted with the apparent explanatory gap between physical processes and
consciousness, philosophers have reacted in many different ways. Some deny that any
explanatory gap exists at all. Some hold that there is an explanatory gap for now, but that
it will eventually be closed. Some hold that the explanatory gap corresponds to an
ontological gap in nature.
In this chapter, I want to explore another reaction to the explanatory gap. Those who
react in this way agree that there is an explanatory gap, but they hold that it stems from
the way we think about consciousness. In particular, this view locates the gap in the
relationship between our concepts of physical processes and our concepts of
consciousness, rather than in the relationship between physical processes and
consciousness themselves.
Following Stoljar (2005), we can call this the phenomenal concept strategy. Proponents
of this strategy argue that phenomenal concepts—our concepts of conscious states—have
a certain special nature. Proponents suggest that given this special nature, it is predictable
that we will find an explanatory gap between physical processes conceived under
physical concepts, and conscious states conceived under phenomenal concepts. At the
same time, they argue that our possession of concepts with this special nature can itself
be explained in physical terms.
If this is right, then we may not have a straightforward physical explanation of
consciousness, but we have the next best thing: a physical explanation of why we find an
explanatory gap. From here, proponents infer that the existence of the explanatory gap is
entirely compatible with the truth of physicalism. From there, they infer that there can be
no sound argument from the existence of the explanatory gap to the falsity of
physicalism.
In addition, proponents often use this strategy to deflate other intuitions that lead some to
reject physicalism about consciousness: intuitions about conceivability and about
knowledge, for example. They suggest that these intuitions are consequences of the
special nature of phenomenal concepts (which, again, can itself be explained
end p.167

in physical terms). They conclude that these intuitions cannot give us conclusive reason
to reject physicalism.
This extremely interesting strategy is perhaps the most attractive option for a physicalist
to take in responding to the problem of consciousness. If it succeeded, the strategy would
respect both the reality of consciousness and the epistemic intuitions that generate the
puzzle of consciousness while explaining why these phenomena are entirely compatible
with physicalism.
I think that the strategy cannot succeed. On close examination, we can see that no
account of phenomenal concepts is both powerful enough to explain our epistemic
situation with regard to consciousness and tame enough to be explained in physical terms.
That is, if the relevant features of phenomenal concepts can be explained in physical
terms, the features cannot explain the explanatory gap. And if the features can explain the
explanatory gap, they cannot themselves be explained in physical terms. In what follows
I will explain why.

Epistemic Gaps and Ontological Gaps

Let P be the complete microphysical truth about the universe: a long conjunctive
sentence detailing the fundamental microphysical properties of every fundamental
microphysical entity across space and time. Let Q be an arbitrary truth about phenomenal
consciousness: for example, the truth that somebody is phenomenally conscious (that is,
that there is something it is like to be that person) or that I am experiencing a certain
shade of phenomenal blueness.
Many puzzles of consciousness start from the observation that there is an apparent
epistemic gap between P and Q: a gap between knowledge of P and knowledge of Q, or
between our conception of P and our conception of Q.
Take Frank Jackson's case of Mary in the black-and-white room, who knows all the
microphysical facts but who still does not know what it is like to see red. It appears that
Mary may know P and may have no limitations on powers of a priori reasoning, but may
still fail to know Q (where here Q is a truth about what it is like for ordinary people to see
red things). This suggests that the truth of Q is not deducible by a priori reasoning from
the truth of P. More specifically, it suggests that the material conditional P Q is not
knowable a priori.
Or take the conceivability of zombies. A zombie is a hypothetical creature that is
physically identical to a conscious being but is not conscious at all. Many people hold
that zombies are conceivable in principle, and they hold further that in principle one
could conceive of a zombie world: one that is physically identical to ours, but without
consciousness. Many people also hold that we can conceive of an inverted world: one
that is physically identical to ours, but in which some conscious states differ from the
corresponding states in our world. If this is right, then there is a gap between conceiving
of P and conceiving of Q. It appears that P&~Q is conceivable, where Q is a truth such as
“Someone is phenomenally conscious” (in the first case), or a truth specifying a particular
state of phenomenal consciousness (in the second).
(I will not say much about exactly what conceivability involves because most of what I
say will be compatible with various understandings of conceivability.
end p.168

But at minimum, we can say that the conceivability of S requires that the truth of S cannot
be ruled out a priori. This is the notion that I have elsewhere called negative
conceivability [strictly: ideal primary negative conceivability]. One may also suggest that
the conceivability of S requires that one can clearly and distinctly imagine a situation in
which S is the case. This is the notion that I have elsewhere called positive conceivability
[strictly: ideal primary positive conceivability]. I think that positive conceivability is the
canonical notion of conceivability, but for the most part, the arguments in this chapter can
operate with either notion. In those cases in which the distinction is relevant, I will make
it explicit. For much more on these notions of conceivability, see Chalmers 2002.)
Many hold further that these epistemic gaps go along with an explanatory gap between P
and Q. The explanatory gap comes from considering the question, Why, given that P is
the case, is Q the case? (Why, given that P is the case, is there phenomenal
consciousness? And why are there the specific conscious states that there are?) The gap is
grounded in part in the apparent inability to deduce Q from P: if one cannot deduce that
Q is the case from the information that P is the case, then it is hard to see how one could
explain the truth of Q wholly in terms of the truth of P. It is grounded even more strongly
in the conceivability of P without Q. If one can conceive of a world that is physically just
like this one but without consciousness, then it seems that one has to add something more
to P to explain why there is consciousness in our world. And if one can conceive of a
world that is physically just like this one but with different states of consciousness, then it
seems that one has to add something more to P to explain why conscious states are the
way they are in our world.
From these epistemic gaps, some infer an ontological gap. One may infer this ontological
gap directly from the explanatory gap: if we cannot explain consciousness in terms of
physical processes, then consciousness cannot be a physical process. Or one may infer it
from one of the other epistemic gaps. For example, one may infer from the claim that
P&~Q is conceivable that P&~Q is metaphysically possible, and conclude that
physicalism is false. If there is a possible world physically just like this one but without
consciousness, then the existence of consciousness is an ontologically further fact about
our world.
At this point, materialists typically respond in one of two ways. Type-A materialists deny
the epistemic gap. Paradigmatic type-A materialists deny there is any factual knowledge
that Mary lacks inside her black-and-white room; they deny that zombies are
conceivable, at least on ideal reflection; and they deny that there is an explanatory gap
that survives reflection. Type-A materialism is an important view. But proponents of the
phenomenal concept strategy reject type-A materialism, so I will not discuss it further
here.
Type-B materialists accept that there is an epistemic gap but deny the inference to an
ontological gap. Paradigmatic type-B materialists hold that Mary lacks knowledge, but
not of ontologically distinct facts about the world; they hold that zombies are conceivable
but not metaphysically possible; and that although there may be no satisfying explanation
of consciousness in physical terms, consciousness is a physical process all the same.
end p.169

Type-B materialists typically embrace conceptual dualism combined with ontological


monism. They hold that phenomenal concepts are distinct from any physical or functional
concepts. But they hold that phenomenal properties are identical to certain physical or
functional properties, or at least that they are constituted by these properties in such a
way that they supervene on them with metaphysical necessity. In this view, conceptual
dualism gives rise to the explanatory gap, whereas ontological monism avoids any
ontological gap.
Here type-B materialists often appeal to analogies with other cases in which distinct
concepts refer to the same property. “Heat” and “molecular motion” express distinct
concepts, for example, but many hold that they refer to the same property. By analogy,
some type-B materialists suggest that a phenomenal term (e.g., “pain”) and a physical
term (e.g., “C-fiber firing”) may express distinct concepts but pick out the same property.
More generally, type-B materialists typically hold that the material conditional “P Q” is
an instance of Kripke's necessary a posteriori: like “water is H 2 O,” the conditional is not
knowable a priori, but it is true in all possible worlds. If successful, these analogies would
reconcile the epistemic gap with ontological monism.
However, the success of these analogies is widely disputed. Kripke himself argued that
the relation between mental and physical expressions is different in kind from the relation
between “heat” and “the motion of molecules,” or that between “water” and “H 2 O,” so
that the grounds for a posteriori identities or necessities in these standard cases are not
present in the mental-physical case. Since then, many opponents and even proponents of
type-B materialism have argued that mental and physical properties are not analogous.
Some (e.g., White 1986, Loar 1990/97) argue that in the standard cases, the distinct
concepts (e.g., “heat” and “the motion of molecules”) are associated with distinct
properties at least as modes of presentation of their referent, if not as their actual referent.
Some (e.g., Chalmers 1996, 2002) argue that the standard cases are all compatible with
an attenuated link between conceivability and possibility, expressible using two-
dimensional semantics. Some (e.g., Jackson 1998) argue that the standard cases are all
compatible with the thesis that physicalism requires a priori entailment of all truths by
physical truths. Some (e.g., Levine 2001) argue that the physical-phenomenal case
involves a “thick” explanatory gap that is unlike those present in the standard cases.
These differences strongly suggest that the standard way of reconciling conceptual
dualism with ontological monism does not apply to the conceptual dualism between the
physical and the phenomenal. If the principles that hold in the standard cases applied
here, then the conceptual dualism would lead to an ontological dualism. For example, we
would expect distinct properties to serve as modes of presentation for physical and
phenomenal concepts; and from here one can reason to an underlying ontological dualism
at the level of these properties. Likewise, we would expect there to be some
metaphysically possible world in the vicinity of what we conceive when we conceive of
zombies and inverts; and from here one can reason to a failure of metaphysical
supervenience of everything on the physical. If so, then the epistemic gap will once again
lead to an ontological gap.
end p.170

The Phenomenal Concept Strategy

Partly to avoid these problems, many type-B materialists have turned to a different
strategy for reconciling conceptual dualism and ontological monism. Instead of focusing
on quite general features of a posteriori identities and necessities, this strategy focuses on
features that are specific to phenomenal concepts. Proponents of the phenomenal concept
strategy typically allow that we are faced with a distinctive epistemic gap in the physical-
phenomenal case, one that is in certain respects unlike the epistemic gaps that one finds
in the standard cases. But they hold that this distinctive epistemic gap can be explained in
terms of certain distinctive features of phenomenal concepts. And they hold that these
distinctive features are themselves compatible with an underlying ontological monism.
Recognitional concepts: The locus classicus for the phenomenal concept strategy is Brian
Loar's paper “Phenomenal States” (1990/97), in which he suggests that phenomenal
concepts are recognitional concepts that pick out their objects via noncontingent modes
of presentation. (Related proposals involving recognitional concepts are made by
Carruthers [2004], Tye [2003], and Levin [chap. 6, this volume].) Recognitional concepts
are concepts deployed when we recognize an object as being one of those, without
relying on theoretical knowledge or other background knowledge. For example, we may
have a recognitional concept of a certain sort of cactus. One may also have a theoretical
concept of that sort of cactus, so that there are two concepts referring to the same sort of
entity. In standard cases, these two concepts will be associated with distinct properties as
modes of presentation (for example, one's recognitional concept of a cactus may be
associated with the property typically causes such-and-such experience), so this will not
ground a full-scale ontological monism. But Loar suggests that phenomenal concepts are
special recognitional concepts because the property that is the referent also serves as a
mode of presentation. He argues that this special character of phenomenal concepts
explains the distinctive epistemic gap in a manner that is compatible with ontological
monism.
Distinct conceptual roles: Developing a suggestion by Nagel (1974), Hill (1997; see also
Hill and McLaughlin 1999) suggests that phenomenal concepts and physical concepts are
associated with distinct faculties and modes of reasoning, and that they play very
different conceptual roles. Hill argues that the distinctive epistemic gaps between the
physical and phenomenal are explained by this distinctness in conceptual roles, and he
suggests that we should expect the epistemic gaps to be present even if the distinct
concepts refer to the same property.
Indexical concepts: A number of philosophers (including Ismael [1999], O'Dea [2002],
and Perry [2001]) have suggested that phenomenal concepts are a sort of indexical
concept, analogous to I and now. There are familiar epistemic gaps between objective and
indexical concepts, noted by Perry (1977) and many others. For example, even given
complete objective knowledge of the world, one might not be able to know what time it is
now, or where one is located. Proponents of the indexical concept strategy suggest that
the epistemic gap between the physical and phenomenal has a similar character. On this
view, just as “now” picks out a certain
end p.171

objective time under an indexical mode of presentation, phenomenal concepts pick out
states of the brain under an indexical mode of presentation.
Quotational concepts: Finally, some philosophers have suggested that phenomenal
concepts are special because their referents—phenomenal states—serve as constituents of
the concepts themselves (or as constituents of the corresponding mental representations).
Sometimes this view of phenomenal concepts is put forward without any associated
ambition to support type-B materialism (e.g., Chalmers 2003a). But some, such as
Papineau (2002 and chap. 7, this volume) and Block (chap. 12, this volume), suggest that
this view of phenomenal concepts can explain the epistemic gap in terms acceptable to a
materialist. For example, Papineau sees phenomenal concepts as quotational concepts,
which represent their referent as That state: —, where the blank space is filled by an
embedded phenomenal state in a way loosely analogous to the way that a word might be
embedded between quotation marks. Papineau suggests that even if the embedded state is
a neural state, this quotational structure will still give rise to the familiar epistemic gaps.
Other proponents of the phenomenal concept strategy include Sturgeon (1994), who
proposes that the explanatory gap is grounded in the fact that phenomenal states serve as
their own canonical evidence; Levine (2001), who suggests that phenomenal concepts
may crucially involve a nonascriptive mode of presentation of their referent; and Aydede
and Güzeldere (2005), who give an information-theoretic analysis of the special relation
between phenomenal concepts and perceptual concepts.
I have discussed many of these views elsewhere. (See Chalmers 1999 for discussion of
the first two views, and Chalmers 2003a for discussion of the third and fourth.) Here I
will focus instead on what is common to all the views, arguing on quite general grounds
that no instance of the phenomenal concept strategy can succeed in grounding a type-B
materialist view of the phenomenal. Later I will apply this general argument to some
specific views.
The general structure of the phenomenal concept strategy can be represented as follows.
Proponents put forward a thesis C attributing certain psychological features—call these
the key features—to human beings. They argue (1) that C is true: humans actually have
the key features; (2) that C explains our epistemic situation with regard to consciousness:
C explains why we are confronted with the relevant distinctive epistemic gaps; and (3)
that C itself can be explained in physical terms: one can (at least in principle) give a
materialistically acceptable explanation of how it is that humans have the key features.
This is a powerful strategy. If it is successful, we may not have a direct physical
explanation of consciousness, but we will have the next best thing: a physical explanation
of the explanatory gap. One might plausibly hold that if we have a physical explanation
of all the epistemic data that generate arguments for dualism, then the force of these
arguments will be undercut. I think this matter is not completely obvious—one might
hold that the residual first-order explanatory gap still poses a problem for physicalism—
but I will concede the point for the purposes of this chapter. There is no question that a
physical explanation of the relevant epistemic gaps would at least carry considerable
force in favor of physicalism.
end p.172

Note that for the strategy to work, all three components are essential. If (1) or (2) fail,
then the presence of the relevant epistemic gaps in us will not be explained. If (3) fails,
on the other hand, then although thesis C may help us understand the conceptual structure
of the epistemic gap, it will carry no weight in deflating the gap. If the epistemic gap is
grounded in special features of phenomenal concepts that are not physically explainable,
then these features will generate a gap of their own. Opponents of the strategy will then
argue that the special features themselves require a nonphysical explanation, and may
plausibly suggest that the special features themselves reflect the presence of irreducible
phenomenal experience. If so, the phenomenal concept strategy will do little to support
physicalism.
It should be noted that not all proponents of the phenomenal concept strategy are
explicitly committed to (3), the thesis that the relevant features of phenomenal concepts
must be physically explicable. Some proponents, such as Loar and Sturgeon, are silent on
the matter. Almost all of them, however, use the phenomenal concept strategy to resist
the inference from the epistemic gap to an ontological gap. I will argue later that without
(3), the phenomenal concept strategy has no force in resisting this inference.
There is a related strategy that I will not discuss here. This is the type-A materialist
strategy of appealing to psychological features to explain why we have false beliefs or
mistaken epistemic intuitions about consciousness (see, for example, Dennett 1981 and
chap. 1, this volume; and Jackson 2003 and chap. 3, this volume). In its most extreme
form, this strategy may involve an attempted psychological explanation of why we think
we are conscious, when in fact we are not. In a less extreme form, the strategy may
involve an attempted psychological explanation of why we think there is an epistemic
gap between physical and phenomenal truths when in fact there is not. For example, it
may attempt to explain why we think Mary gains new knowledge when in fact she does
not, or why we think zombies are conceivable when in fact they are not. This is an
important and interesting strategy, but it is not my target here. My target is, rather, a type-
B materialist who accepts that we are phenomenally conscious and that there is an
epistemic gap between physical and phenomenal truths, and who aims to give a
psychological explanation of the existence of this epistemic gap.

A Master Argument

I will argue that no account can simultaneously satisfy (2) and (3). For any candidate
thesis C about psychological features of human beings, then either

1. C is not physically explicable

or

2. C does not explain our epistemic situation with regard to consciousness.

Here the key question will be: is P&~C conceivable? That is, can we conceive of beings
physically identical to us (in physically identical environments, if necessary) that do not
have the psychological features attributed by thesis C?
end p.173

One might approach this question by asking: Would zombies have the key features
attributed by thesis C? Or at least by asking: Is it conceivable that zombies lack the key
features? Note that neither question assumes that zombies are metaphysically possible.
We simply need the assumption that zombies are conceivable, an assumption that type-B
materialists typically grant.
One can also approach the question by considering a scenario closer to home. Instead of
considering physically identical zombies, we can consider functionally identical zombies:
say, functionally identical creatures that have silicon chips where we have neurons and
that lack consciousness. Most type-B materialists allow that it is at least an open
epistemic possibility that silicon functional isomorphs in the actual world would lack
consciousness. We can then ask: Assuming that these functional isomorphs lack
consciousness, do they also lack the key features attributed by thesis C? If it is
conceivable that a functional isomorph lacks these features, then it will almost certainly
be conceivable that a physical isomorph lacks these features.
In any case, either physical duplicates that lack the key features are conceivable or they
are not. This allows us to set up a master argument against the phenomenal concept
strategy, in the form of a dilemma:

1. If P&~C is conceivable, then C is not physically explicable.


2. If P&~C is not conceivable, then C cannot explain our epistemic situation.
__________
3. Either C is not physically explicable, or C cannot explain our epistemic situation.

The argument is valid. It has the form of a dilemma, with each premise representing one
of the horns. In what follows I will discuss each horn in turn, arguing for the
corresponding premise.

First Horn: P C Is Conceivable

Premise (1) says that if P&~C is conceivable, then C is not physically explicable. The
argument for this premise is straightforward. It parallels the original reasoning from the
claim that P&~Q is conceivable to the claim that Q is not physically explicable. If one
can conceive of physical duplicates that lack the key features attributed by thesis C, then
there will be an explanatory gap between P and C. That is, there will be no wholly
physical explanation that makes transparent why thesis C is true. To explain why, in the
actual world, creatures with the relevant physical structure satisfy thesis C, we will need
additional explanatory materials, just as we need such principles to explain why actual
creatures with this physical structure are conscious.
Here, again, we are assuming nothing about the relationship between conceivability and
possibility. It may be that creatures satisfying P&~C are metaphysically impossible. We
are simply assuming a connection between conceivability and explanation. More
precisely, we are assuming a connection between conceivability and a certain sort of
reductive explanation, the sort that is relevant here: explanation that makes transparent
why some high-level truth obtains, given that certain low-level truths obtain. If it is
conceivable that the low-level truths obtain without the high-level truths obtaining, then
this sort of transparent explanation will fail. The original explanatory gap between
consciousness and the physical turns on the
end p.174

absence of just this sort of transparent explanation. If it is conceivable that P obtains


without C obtaining, then we will have just the same sort of explanatory gap between
physical processes and the relevant features of phenomenal concepts.
Type-B materialists typically accept this connection between conceivability and
transparent explanation, even though they reject the connection between conceivability
and possibility. So for now, I will take the connection between conceivability and
explanation for granted. Later I will argue that even rejecting the connection will not
remove the dilemma for the type-B materialist.
One might think that a proponent of the phenomenal concept strategy must take this first
horn of the dilemma, as thesis C will be a thesis about phenomenal concepts. If thesis C
explicitly requires the existence of phenomenal concepts, and if phenomenal concepts
require the existence of phenomenal states, then it is out of the question that zombies
could have the features attributed by thesis C. If C builds in the truth of Q, and P&~Q is
conceivable, then P&~C will automatically be conceivable. A physical explanation of the
truth of thesis C would then be ruled out.
We can avoid this problem by stipulating that thesis C should be cast in topic-neutral
terms: terms that do not explicitly attribute phenomenal states or concepts that refer to
them. The restriction to topic-neutral terms allows that thesis C may include
psychological or epistemological vocabulary, in addition to physical and functional
vocabulary. But phenomenal vocabulary is barred. For example, instead of casting thesis
C as a thesis explicitly about phenomenal concepts, one can cast it as a thesis about
quasi-phenomenal concepts, where these can be understood as concepts deployed in
certain circumstances that are associated with certain sorts of perceptual and introspective
processes, and so on. Phenomenal concepts will be quasi-phenomenal concepts, but now
it is not out of the question that zombies might have quasi-phenomenal concepts too.
Formulated this way, thesis C will then say that quasi-phenomenal concepts have certain
properties, such as being recognitional concepts without contingent modes of
presentation. We can likewise appeal to quasi-phenomenal concepts in characterizing our
epistemic situation with regard to consciousness. This allows the possibility that even if
consciousness cannot be physically explained, we might be able to physically explain the
key psychological features and our epistemic situation. If we could physically explain
why we are in such an epistemic situation, we would have done the crucial work in
physically explaining the existence of an explanatory gap.
Henceforth, I will take it for granted that thesis C should be cast in topic-neutral terms.
The same goes for the characterization of our epistemic situation. Understood this way, it
is by no means out of the question that zombies would have quasi-phenomenal concepts
with the properties in question, and that P&~C is not conceivable, leading to the second
horn of the dilemma. That question is no longer prejudiced by building in theses about
phenomenology. Rather, the question will turn on the character of the psychological
features themselves. 1
end p.175
Of course, it remains possible that even when thesis C is understood in topic-neutral
terms, the character of the psychological features involved in C is such that P&~C is
conceivable. If so, then the first horn of the dilemma is raised as strongly as ever. On this
horn, the relevant psychological features will raise just as much of an explanatory gap as
consciousness itself, and an appeal to these features can do little to deflate the
explanatory gap.

Second Horn: P C Is Not Conceivable

Premise 2 says that if P C is not conceivable, then C cannot explain our epistemic
situation. The case for this premise is not quite as straightforward as the case for premise
1. One can put the case informally as follows:

4.If P C is not conceivable, then zombies satisfy C.

5.Zombies do not share our epistemic situation.

6.If zombies satisfy C but do not share our epistemic situation, then C cannot explain
our epistemic situation.
__________
7.If P C is not conceivable, then C cannot explain our epistemic situation.

Strictly speaking, the references to zombies should be put within the scope of a
conceivability operator. One can formalize the argument in this fashion, but for now I
will use the informal version for ease of discussion. 2
Here, premise (6) is simply another application of the connection between conceivability
and explanation. Premise (4) might be derived from a principle of completeness about the
conceivable (if R is conceivable, then for arbitrary S, either R&S is conceivable, or R S is
conceivable). But in this context, one can also defend (4) more straightforwardly by
noting that if the truth of C is transparently explained by P, as the first horn requires, then
if we specify that P holds in a conceivable situation, it will follow transparently that C
holds in that situation.
The real work in this argument is done by premise (5). This premise amounts to the claim
that P E is conceivable, where E characterizes our epistemic situation. To clarify this
premise further, one needs to clarify the notion of our epistemic situation.
I will take it that the epistemic situation of an individual includes the truth-values of their
beliefs and the epistemic status of their beliefs (as justified or unjustified, and as
cognitively significant or insignificant). As before, an epistemic situation (and a sentence
E characterizing it) should be understood in topic-neutral terms, so that it does not build
in claims about the presence of phenomenal states or
end p.176
phenomenal concepts. We can say that two individuals share their epistemic situation
when they have corresponding beliefs, all of which have corresponding truth-value and
epistemic status. A zombie will share the epistemic situation of a conscious being if the
zombie and the conscious being have corresponding beliefs, all of which have
corresponding truth-values and epistemic status. Here, I assume an intuitive notion of
correspondence between the beliefs of a conscious being and the beliefs (if any) of its
zombie twin. For example, corresponding utterances by a conscious being and its zombie
twin will express corresponding beliefs. It is important to note that this notion of
correspondence does not require that corresponding beliefs have the same content. It is
plausible that a nonconscious being such as a zombie cannot have beliefs with exactly the
same content as our beliefs about consciousness. But we can nevertheless talk of the
zombie's corresponding beliefs. So the claim that a zombie and a conscious being share
their epistemic situation does not require that their beliefs have the same content. This
mirrors the general requirement that epistemic situations be understood in topic-neutral
terms.
I will assume here, at least for the sake of argument, that zombies can have beliefs (that
is, that it is conceivable that zombies have beliefs). This is by no means obvious. But if
zombies cannot have beliefs, then the phenomenal concept strategy cannot get off the
ground. If zombies cannot have beliefs, then presumably they cannot possess concepts
either, so there will be an explanatory gap between physical processes and the possession
of concepts. If so, then there will be an explanatory gap between physical processes and
the key features of phenomenal concepts, leading to the first horn of the dilemma. And
even if zombies can have concepts with the key features, then as long as they cannot have
beliefs, the key features cannot explain our epistemic situation, leading to the second
horn of the dilemma. So the assumption that zombies can have beliefs should be seen as a
concession to the type-B materialist for the sake of argument.
For a given conscious being with a given epistemic situation as understood above, E will
be a sentence asserting the existence of a being with that epistemic situation. This
sentence will be made true by that being in its original epistemic situation, and it will be
made true by any being that shares this epistemic situation in the sense specified above.
Premise 5, the claim that zombies do not share our epistemic situation, can be understood
as the claim that P E is conceivable, where E characterizes the epistemic situation of an
actual conscious being. That is, it is the claim that (it is conceivable that) zombies' beliefs
differ in their truth-value or their epistemic status from the corresponding beliefs of their
actual conscious twins.
Why think that zombies do not share our epistemic situation? The first reason for this is
intuitive. On the face of it, zombies have a much less accurate self-conception than
conscious beings do. I believe that I am conscious, that I have states with remarkable
qualitative character available to introspection, that these states resist transparent
reductive explanation, and so on. My zombie twin has corresponding beliefs. It is not
straightforward to determine just what content these beliefs might possess. But there is a
strong intuition that these beliefs are false, or at least that they are less justified than my
beliefs.
One can develop this intuitive consideration by considering a zombie's utterances of
sentences such as “I am phenomenally conscious.” It is not clear exactly
end p.177
what a zombie asserts in asserting this sentence. But it is plausible that the zombie does
not assert a truth.
Balog (1999) suggests that the zombie does assert a truth, as its term “phenomenal
consciousness” will refer to a brain state. This seems to give implausible results,
however. We can imagine a debate in a zombie world between a zombie eliminativist and
a zombie realist:

Zombie Eliminativist: “There's no such thing as phenomenal consciousness.”


Zombie Realist: “Yes, there is.”
Zombie Eliminativist: “We are conscious insofar as ‘consciousness’ is a functional
concept, but we are not conscious in any further sense.”
Zombie Realist: “No, we are conscious in a sense that is not functionally analyzable.”

When such a debate is held in the actual world, the type-B materialist and the property
dualist agree that the zombie realist is right, and the zombie eliminativist is wrong. But it
is plausible that in a zombie scenario, the zombie realist would be wrong, and the zombie
eliminativist would be right. If so, then where we have true beliefs about consciousness,
some corresponding beliefs of our zombie twins are false, so that zombies do not share
our epistemic situation.
Still, because judgments about the truth-value of a zombie's judgments are disputed, we
can also appeal to a different strategy, one that focuses on the nature of our knowledge
compared to a zombie's knowledge. Let us focus on the epistemic situation of Mary, upon
seeing red for the first time. Here, Mary gains cognitively significant knowledge of what
it is like to see red, knowledge that could not be inferred from physical knowledge. What
about Mary's zombie twin, Zombie Mary? What sort of knowledge does Zombie Mary
gain when she emerges from the black-and-white room?
It is plausible that Zombie Mary at least gains certain abilities. For example, upon seeing
a red thing, she will gain the ability to perceptually classify red things together. It is also
reasonable to suppose that Zombie Mary will gain certain indexical knowledge, of the
form I am in this state now, where this state functions indexically to pick out whatever
state she is in. But this knowledge is analogous to trivial indexical knowledge of the form
It is this time now, and is equally cognitively insignificant. There is no reason to believe
that Zombie Mary will gain cognitively significant introspective knowledge, analogous to
the cognitively significant knowledge that Mary gains. On the face of it, there is nothing
for Zombie Mary to gain knowledge of. For Zombie Mary, all is dark inside, so even
confronting her with a new sort of stimulus will not bring about new significant
introspective knowledge.
If this is right, then Zombie Mary does not share Mary's epistemic situation. In addition
to Mary's abilities and her indexical beliefs, Mary has significant knowledge of what it is
like to see red, knowledge not inferable from her physical knowledge. But Zombie Mary
does not have significant non-indexical knowledge that corresponds to Mary's
knowledge. If so, then Zombie Mary does not share Mary's epistemic situation.
One can also bring out the contrast by considering a case somewhat closer to home.
Balog (1999) appeals to hypothetical conscious humans called “Yogis,” who have the
ability to refer directly to their brain states by deploying direct recognitional
end p.178

concepts of those states, even when those states have no associated phenomenal quality.
She suggests that zombies likewise might have direct recognitional knowledge of their
brain states by deploying a recognitional concept analogous to a Yogi's.
Even if Yogi concepts like this are possible, however, it is clear that they are nothing like
phenomenal concepts. A Yogi going into a new brain state for the first time might
sometimes acquire a new recognitional concept associated with that state. But a Yogi will
not acquire new cognitively significant knowledge that is analogous to Mary's
phenomenal knowledge. At best, a Yogi will acquire trivial knowledge, which we might
express roughly as “that sort of brain state is that sort of brain state.” So even if Zombie
Mary can have a recognitional concept like this, she will still not have an epistemic
situation like Mary's.
(I think a Yogi's concept is probably best understood as a response-dependent concept: if
the concept is flurg, it is a priori for the Yogi that a flurg is whatever brain state normally
triggers flurg-judgments. Once a Yogi discovers that brain state B triggers these
judgments, he will know that a flurg is an instance of B, and there will be no further
question about flurgs. This contrasts with a phenomenal concept: once we discover that
our phenomenal redness judgments are typically triggered by brain state B, we will still
regard the question of the nature of phenomenal redness as wide open. This difference
between response-dependent concepts and phenomenal concepts tends to further undercut
Balog's suggestion that Yogi's concepts are just like phenomenal concepts.)
If the above is correct, then P E is conceivable, and premise 5 is correct. When this is
combined with premises 4 and 6, the conclusion follows. That is: if P C is not
conceivable, then Zombie Mary has the psychological features attributed by C, but she
does not share Mary's epistemic situation. So the psychological features attributed by C
cannot explain Mary's epistemic situation, and more generally, cannot explain our
epistemic situation with respect to consciousness.

Summary

We can summarize the arguments above more briefly as follows.

1. P E is conceivable
2. If P E is conceivable, then P C is conceivable or C E is conceivable.
3. If P C is conceivable, P cannot explain C.
4. If C E is conceivable, C cannot explain E.
____________
5. P cannot explain C or C cannot explain E.
Premise (1) is supported by the considerations about Zombie Mary above. Premise (2) is
a plausible consequence of the logic of conceivability. Premises (3) and (4) are
applications of the connection between conceivability and explanation. The conclusion
says that C cannot satisfy the constraints laid out in the general requirements for the
phenomenal concept strategy. The argument here is general, applying to any candidate
for C. It follows that the phenomenal concept strategy cannot succeed: no psychological
features are simultaneously physically explicable and able to explain the distinctive
epistemic gaps in the phenomenal domain.
end p.179

Reactions

Proponents of the phenomenal concept strategy may react to this argument in one of four
ways. First, they may accept that P cannot explain C but hold that the phenomenal
concept strategy still has force. Second, they may accept that C cannot explain E (at least
as I have construed E) but hold that the phenomenal concept strategy still has force.
Third, they may deny that P E is conceivable and hold that Zombie Mary shares the same
epistemic situation as Mary. Fourth, they may deny the connection between
conceivability and explanation. (Each of these reactions has been suggested in
discussions I have had with type-B materialists, with the first and third reactions being
more common than the second and fourth.) In what follows, I will discuss each of the
reactions in turn.

Option 1: Accept That P Cannot Explain C

The first response adopts what we might call the “thick phenomenal concept” strategy.
On this approach, proponents appeal to features of phenomenal concepts that are thick
enough to explain our distinctive epistemic situation with respect to consciousness but are
too thick to be physically explained.
An example of such an approach may be the proposal that phenomenal concepts involve
a direct acquaintance with their referent of a sort that discloses an aspect of their
referent's intrinsic nature. Such a proposal may well help to explain the distinctive
epistemic progress that Mary makes and that Zombie Mary does not make: Mary has
concepts that involve direct acquaintance with their referents, whereas Zombie Mary does
not. But the very fact that Mary has such concepts and that Zombie Mary does not
suggests that this feature of phenomenal concepts cannot be physically explained. The
proposal requires a special psychological feature (acquaintance) whose existence one
would not predict from just the physical/functional structure of the brain.
The obvious problem here is the problem mentioned before. On this account, even if
there is a sort of explanation of the explanatory gap in terms of features of phenomenal
concepts, the explanatory gap recurs just as strongly in the explanation of phenomenal
concepts themselves. Because of this, the strategy may make some progress in
diagnosing the explanatory gap, but it will do little to deflate the gap.
end p.180
A proponent may suggest that just as the first-order explanatory gap can be explained in
terms of second-order features of phenomenal concepts, the second-order explanatory
gap concerning phenomenal concepts can be explained in terms of third-order features of
our concepts of phenomenal concepts, and so on. Alternatively, an opponent may suggest
that the second-order explanatory gap can be explained in terms of the same second-order
features of phenomenal concepts that explain the first-order explanatory gap. The first
move here obviously leads to a regress of explanation, and the second move leads to a
circular explanation. Explanatory structures of this sort can be informative, but again they
will do nothing to deflate the explanatory gap unless the chain of explanation is at some
point grounded in physical explanation.
A proponent may also suggest that to require that the key psychological features be
physically explicable is to set the bar too high. On this view, all that is needed is a
psychological explanation of the epistemic gap that is compatible with the truth of
physicalism, not one that is itself transparently explainable in physical terms. However,
an opponent will now question the compatibility of the account with the truth of
physicalism. Just as the original explanatory gap gave reason to think that consciousness
is not wholly physical, the new explanatory gap gives reason to think that phenomenal
concepts are not wholly physical.
At this point, the proponent may respond by saying that ontological physicalism is
compatible with the existence of explanatory gaps. But now we are back where we
started, before the phenomenal concept strategy came in. Antiphysicalists argue from an
epistemic gap to an ontological gap. The phenomenal concept strategy as outlined earlier
was supposed to ground the rejection of this inference by showing how such epistemic
gaps can arise in a purely physical system. If successful, the strategy would help to justify
the claim that the epistemic gap is compatible with ontological physicalism, and so would
lend significant support to type-B materialism. But the weaker version of the strategy
outlined above can give no such support. On this version, the proponent needs
independent grounds to reject the inference from an explanatory gap to an ontological
gap. If the proponent has no such grounds, then the phenomenal concept strategy does
nothing to provide them. An opponent will simply say that the explanatory gap between
physical processes and phenomenal concepts provides all the more reason to reject
physicalism. If the proponent already has such grounds, on the other hand, then the
phenomenal concept strategy is rendered redundant. Either way, the strategy will play no
role in supporting type-B materialism against the antiphysicalist.
This limitation does not entail that the limited version of the phenomenal concept strategy
is without interest. Even if it does not support a type-B materialist view, we can see this
sort of account of phenomenal concepts as helping to flesh out a type-B materialist view
by giving an account of what phenomenal concepts might be like under the assumption
that type-B materialism is true. If we have independent reasons to be type-B materialists,
we may then have reason to suppose that phenomenal concepts work as the account
suggested. And if we have some independent method of deflating the original
explanatory gap, then presumably this method may also apply to the new explanatory
gap. For example, if a type-B materialist accepts an explanatorily primitive identity
between certain physical/functional properties and phenomenal properties, she may also
accept an explanatorily primitive identity between certain physical/functional properties
and the properties of phenomenal concepts. But insofar as one has reasons to reject type-
B materialism, the phenomenal concept strategy will do nothing to undermine these
reasons.
(Note that I am not arguing in this chapter that type-B materialism is false. I have done
that elsewhere. Here I am simply arguing that the phenomenal concept strategy provides
no support for type-B materialism and provides no grounds for rejecting arguments from
the epistemic gap to an ontological gap.)
Overall, I think that accepting an explanatory gap between physical processes and
phenomenal concepts is the most reasonable reaction to the arguments above for a type-B
materialist. To accept such a gap does not immediately rule out the
end p.181

truth of type-B materialism, and the account of phenomenal concepts may help in
elaborating the position. But now the phenomenal concept strategy does nothing to
support type-B materialism against the antimaterialist. To resist antimaterialist
arguments, and to deflate the significance of the explanatory gap, the type-B materialist
must look elsewhere.

Option 2: Accept That C Does Not Explain E, But Hold That It Explains a Reconstrued E

The second possible reaction for a type-B materialist is to embrace the second horn of the
dilemma, accepting that the key psychological features that they appeal to do not explain
our epistemic situation, at least as I have construed that epistemic situation. We might
think of this as a “thin phenomenal concepts” strategy. Here, the psychological features
in question are tame enough to be physically explained, but they are not powerful enough
to explain the full-blown epistemic gaps associated with consciousness.
The problem with this strategy is the same as the problem for the first strategy. Because it
leaves a residual explanatory gap, it does little to close the original explanatory gap. The
issues that come up here are similar to the issues under the first reaction, so I will not go
over them again. If anything, this reaction is less attractive than the first reaction because
an account of phenomenal concepts that cannot explain our epistemic situation with
regard to consciousness would seem to have very little to recommend it.
There is a version of this reaction that is worth attending to, however. This version
concedes that the key psychological features in question cannot explain our full epistemic
situation as I have defined it, but asserts that the features can explain our epistemic
situation in a narrower sense, where it is this sense that is crucial to explaining away the
explanatory gap. In particular, a proponent may suggest that I raised the bar unnecessarily
high by stipulating that our epistemic situation includes the truth-values of our beliefs,
and by including their status as knowledge. It may be suggested that there is a sense in
which truth-value is external to our epistemic situation, and that the phenomenal concept
strategy needs only to explain our epistemic situation more narrowly construed.
I can think of three main versions of this strategy. A proponent may suggest: (1) that a
physically explicable account of phenomenal concepts can explain the justification of our
phenomenal beliefs; or (2) that such an account can explain the inferential disconnection
between our physical and phenomenal beliefs, including the fact that the latter are not
deducible from the former, for example (this suggestion meshes especially well with
Hill's account of phenomenal concepts in terms of dual conceptual roles); or (3) that such
an account can explain the existence of our phenomenal beliefs and of associated beliefs,
such as the belief in an explanatory gap. In each of these cases, proponents may claim
that corresponding features will be present in zombies, so that there is no obstacle to a
physical explanation.
I think that each of these strategies is interesting, but each suffers from the same problem.
To restrict the ambition of the phenomenal concept strategy in this way undercuts its
force in supporting type-B materialism. Recall that the strategy is intended to resist the
antiphysicalist's inference from an epistemic gap to an ontological gap by showing how
the relevant epistemic gap may exist even if physicalism is true. In the antiphysicalist's
arguments, the relevant epistemic gap (from which an ontological gap is inferred) is
characterized in such a way that truth and knowledge are essential. For example, it is
crucial to the knowledge argument that Mary gains new factual knowledge or, at least,
new true beliefs. It is crucial to the conceivability argument that one can conceive beings
that lack phenomenal states that one actually has. And it is crucial to the explanatory gap
that one has cognitively significant knowledge of the states that we cannot explain. If one
characterized these gaps in a way that were neutral on the truth of phenomenal beliefs,
the arguments would not get off the ground. So truth-value is essential to the relevant
epistemic gaps. If so, then to undercut the inference from these gaps to an ontological
gap, the phenomenal concept strategy needs to show how the relevant truth-involving
epistemic gaps are consistent with physicalism. The strategies above do not do this, so
they do nothing to undercut the inference from the epistemic gap to an ontological gap.
Perhaps proponents could augment their explanation of the narrow epistemic situation
with an additional element that explains why the relevant beliefs are true and qualify as
knowledge. For example, one might augment it with an explanation (perhaps via a causal
theory of reference?) of why phenomenal beliefs refer to physical states and an
explanation (perhaps via a reliabilist theory of knowledge?) of why such beliefs
constitute knowledge. However, such an augmented explanation is now subject to the
original dilemma. If the account applies equally to a zombie (as might be the case for
simple causal and reliabilist theories, for example), then it cannot account for the crucial
epistemic differences between conscious beings and zombies. And if it does not apply
equally to a zombie (if it relies on a notion of acquaintance, for example), then crucial
explanatory elements in the account will not be physically explainable.
So I think that none of these strategies gives any support to type-B materialism. Each of
them deserves brief discussion in its own right, however. For example, it is worth noting
that strategy (1), involving justification, has a further problem in that it is plausible that
Mary's introspective beliefs have a sort of justification that Zombie Mary's corresponding
beliefs do not share. One could make this case by appealing to the widely accepted view
that conscious experience makes a difference to the justification of our perceptual and
introspective beliefs. Or one could make it by considering the scenario directly: whereas
Mary's belief that she is currently conscious and having a color experience is plausibly
justified with something approaching Cartesian certainty, there is a strong intuition that
Zombie Mary's corresponding belief is not justified to the same extent, if it is justified at
all. If so, then a physically explicable account of phenomenal concepts cannot explain
even the justificatory status of Mary's phenomenal knowledge.
The second strategy, involving inferential disconnection, does not have this sort of
problem, as it is plausible that a zombie's physical and quasi-phenomenal beliefs are no
more inferentially connected than a conscious being's beliefs. Here, the main problem is
that given above. Whereas the inferential disconnection strategy may physically explain
an inferential disconnection between physical and phenomenal
end p.183

beliefs, the antiphysicalist's crucial epistemic gap involves a disconnection between


physical and phenomenal knowledge. This strategy does not help to reconcile this crucial
epistemic gap with physicalism, so it lends no support to type-B materialism. At best, it
shows that zombie-style analogs of phenomenal beliefs (inferentially disconnected from
physical beliefs) are compatible with physicalism, but this is something that we knew
already.
The most interesting version of strategy (3) is the one that appeals to phenomenal
concepts to explain our belief in an epistemic gap (including our belief that Mary gains
new knowledge, that zombies are conceivable, and that there is an explanatory gap). For
the reasons given above, this strategy cannot help the type-B materialist undermine the
inference from an epistemic gap to an ontological gap. However, one might think that it
helps undermine the premise of that inference by explaining why the belief in such a gap
is to be predicted even if no such gap exists. This is an important strategy, but it is one
more suited to a type-A materialist than to a type-B materialist. The type-B materialist
agrees with the antiphysicalist, against the type-A materialist, on the datum that there is
an epistemic gap (e.g., that zombies are conceivable, that Mary gains new phenomenal
knowledge, and that there is an explanatory gap). Given this datum, and given that the
inference from an epistemic gap to an ontological gap is unchallenged by this strategy,
then the strategy does nothing to support type-B materialism against the antiphysicalist.

Option 3: Assert That Zombies Share Our Epistemic Situation

The third reaction is to assert that zombies share our epistemic situation. Where we have
beliefs about consciousness, zombies have corresponding beliefs with the same truth-
values and the same epistemic status. And where Mary acquires new phenomenal
knowledge on seeing red for the first time, Zombie Mary acquires new knowledge of a
precisely analogous sort. If this is right, then the crucial features of phenomenal concepts
might simultaneously be physically explicable and able to explain our epistemic situation.
Of course, a zombie's crucial beliefs will not be phenomenal beliefs, and Zombie Mary's
crucial knowledge will not be phenomenal knowledge. Zombies have no phenomenal
states, so they cannot have true beliefs that attribute phenomenal states to themselves, and
they cannot have first-person phenomenal knowledge. Instead, the proponent of this
strategy must conceive of zombies as attributing some other sort of state to themselves.
We might think of these states as “schmenomenal states,” and the corresponding beliefs
as “schmenomenal beliefs.” Schmenomenal states stand to phenomenal states roughly as
“twater,” the superficially identical liquid on Twin Earth, stands to water: schmenomenal
states are not phenomenal states, but they play a role in zombies' lives that is analogous to
the role that phenomenal states play in ours. In particular, on this proposal, a zombie's
schmenomenal beliefs have the same truth-value and epistemic status as a non-zombie's
phenomenal beliefs.
One might worry that in a type-B materialist view, schmenomenal states must be the
same as phenomenal states, since both are identical to the same underlying physical
states. In reply, one can note that the discussion of zombies falls within
end p.184

the scope of a conceivability operator, and the type-B materialist allows that although
physical states are identical to phenomenal states, it is at least conceivable that they are
not so identical. The zombie scenario will presumably be understood in terms of
conceiving that the same physical states are identical to nonphenomenal (schmenomenal)
states instead. To avoid this complication, one might also conduct this discussion in terms
of a functionally identical silicon zombie, rather than in terms of a physically identical
zombie. Then the type-B materialist can simply say that ordinary humans have neural
states that are identical to phenomenal states, whereas silicon zombies have silicon states
that are identical to schmenomenal states. On the current view, silicon zombies will have
schmenomenal knowledge that is epistemically analogous to humans' phenomenal
knowledge.
This proposal might be developed in two different ways: either by deflating the
phenomenal knowledge of conscious beings or by inflating the corresponding knowledge
of zombies. That is, a proponent may argue either that Mary gains less new knowledge
than I suggested earlier or that Zombie Mary gains more new knowledge than I suggested
earlier. Earlier, I argued that Mary gains new cognitively significant non-indexical
knowledge, whereas Zombie Mary does not. The deflationary strategy proposes that
Mary gains no such knowledge; the inflationary strategy proposes that Zombie Mary
gains such knowledge, too.
The deflationary strategy will presumably involve the claim that the only new factual
knowledge that Mary gains upon seeing red for the first time is indexical knowledge.
That is, Mary gains knowledge of the form “I am in this state now,” where “this state”
picks out the state that she happens to be in: presumably some sort of neural state.
According to this proposal, Zombie Mary gains analogous knowledge, also of the form “I
am in this state now,” where “this state” picks out the state she happens to be in:
presumably a neural state or a silicon state. There seems to be no problem in principle
with the idea that Zombie Mary could gain indexical knowledge of this sort, at least if a
zombie can have knowledge at all. This strategy meshes particularly well with the
proposal that phenomenal concepts are a species of indexical concept.
In response, I think there is good reason to accept that Mary gains more than indexical
knowledge. I have made this case elsewhere (Chalmers 2003a), so I will just recapitulate
it briefly here. First, there is a sense in which indexical knowledge is perspective-
dependent, and vanishes from an objective perspective. For me, full objective knowledge
is incomplete unless I know that I am David Chalmers, but no one else with full objective
knowledge can be ignorant of the fact that I am David Chalmers in this way. The same
goes for indexical knowledge of my current time and location: no one with full objective
knowledge can be ignorant of this in the way that I can be ignorant. Mary's indexical
knowledge that this brain state is such-and-such brain state is of the same sort: that is, no
one else with full physical knowledge can be ignorant of this in the way that Mary can be
ignorant. But Mary's phenomenal knowledge of what it is like for her to see a red tomato
is not like this. Other beings with full physical knowledge can be ignorant of what it is
like for Mary to see a tomato, just as Mary was ignorant before she saw the tomato,
regardless of their perspective or the brain states they happen to be in. This strongly
suggests that Mary's phenomenal knowledge is not indexical knowledge.
end p.185

Second, just as Mary gains nontrivial knowledge that such-and-such is what it is like to
see red, where “such-and-such” corresponds to her deployment of a phenomenal concept,
she also gains nontrivial indexical knowledge that this state is such-and-such, where “this
state” corresponds to an indexical concept picking out whatever phenomenal state she
happens to be in, and “such-and-such” again corresponds to her deployment of a
phenomenal concept. This knowledge is cognitively significant knowledge that Mary
gains upon introspection. But this knowledge involves the deployment of an indexical
concept on one side of an identity, and Mary's crucial phenomenal concept on the other
side. Again, this strongly suggests that the phenomenal concept is distinct from the
indexical concept, and that Mary's cognitively significant knowledge I am in such-and-
such state now is distinct from her trivial indexical knowledge I am in this state now. If
so, then Mary gains more than this indexical knowledge, and the deflationary strategy
fails.
The inflationary strategy involves the proposal that just as Mary gains cognitively
significant non-indexical knowledge involving phenomenal concepts, Zombie Mary gains
analogous cognitively significant non-indexical knowledge involving schmenomenal
concepts. So where Mary gains significant knowledge of the form Tomatoes cause such-
and-such phenomenal state, I am in such-and-such phenomenal state, and This state is
such-and-such phenomenal state, Zombie Mary gains significant knowledge of the form
Tomatoes cause such-and-such schmenomenal state, I am in such-and-such
schmenomenal state, and This state is such-and-such schmenomenal state. Zombie
Mary's new beliefs have the same truth-value, the same epistemic status, and the same
epistemic connections as Mary's corresponding beliefs.
Here, the natural response is that this scenario is simply not what we are conceiving when
we conceive of a zombie. Perhaps it is possible to conceive of a being with another sort
of state—call it “schmonsciousness”—to which it stands in the same sort of epistemic
relation that we stand in to consciousness. Schmonsciousness would not be
consciousness, but it would be epistemically just as good. It is by no means obvious that a
state such as schmonsciousness is conceivable, but it is also not obviously inconceivable.
However, when we ordinarily conceive of zombies, we are not conceiving of beings with
something analogous to consciousness that is epistemically just as good. Rather, we are
conceiving of beings with nothing epistemically analogous to consciousness at all.
Put differently: when we conceive of zombies, we are not conceiving of beings whose
inner life is as rich as ours, but different in character. We are conceiving of beings whose
inner life is dramatically poorer than our own. And this difference in inner lives makes
for dramatic difference in the richness of our introspective knowledge. Where we have
substantial knowledge of our phenomenal inner lives, zombies have no analogous
introspective knowledge: there is nothing analogous for them to have introspective
knowledge of.
Perhaps a zombie can have a sort of introspective knowledge of some of its states: its
beliefs and desires, say, or its representations of external stimuli. But this sort of
introspective knowledge is not analogous to our phenomenal introspective knowledge.
Rather, it is analogous to our nonphenomenal introspective
end p.186

knowledge. Phenomenology is not all that is available to introspection, and it is not out of
the question that zombies could have the sort of nonphenomenal introspective knowledge
that we have. But none of this knowledge will have the character of our introspective
knowledge of phenomenal states because there is nothing analogous for zombies to
introspect.
At this point a proponent might appeal to certain naturalistic theories of the mind:
perhaps a functionalist theory of belief, a causal theory of mental content, and/or a
reliabilist theory of knowledge. Zombies have the same functional organization as
conscious beings and the same reliable causal connections among their physical states, so
a proponent could suggest that these theories entail that zombies will have corresponding
beliefs with the same epistemic status as ours. It is not obvious that the theories will make
this prediction: this depends on whether they are a priori theories that apply to all
conceivable scenarios. If they do not, then they do not undermine the conception of
zombies whose epistemic status differs from ours. But in any case, to appeal to these
theories in this context is to beg the question. Consideration of the Mary situation and
related matters gives us good reason to believe that consciousness is relevant to matters
such as mental content and epistemic status. It follows that if consciousness is not itself
explainable in physical/functional terms, then any entirely physical/functional theory of
content or knowledge will be incomplete. If a theory predicts that a nonconscious zombie
would have the same sort of introspective knowledge that we do, then this is reason to
reject the theory.
The upshot of all this is that the inflationary strategy does not adequately reflect what we
are conceiving when we conceive of a zombie. Perhaps it is conceivable that a
nonconscious duplicate could have some analogous state, schmonsciousness, of which
they have analogous introspective knowledge. But it is also conceivable that a
nonconscious duplicate would have no such analogous introspective knowledge. And this
latter conceivability claim is all that the argument against the phenomenal concept
strategy needs.

Option 4: Reject the Link between Conceivability and Explanation

The fourth possible reaction for proponents of the phenomenal concept strategy is to deny
the connection between conceivability and explanation. Such proponents might allow that
P C is conceivable, but hold that nevertheless, P explains C. Or they might allow that
C E is conceivable, but hold that nevertheless, C explains E.

Of course, everyone should allow that there are some sorts of explanation such that
explaining B in terms of A is consistent with the conceivability of B without A. For causal
explanation, for example, this is precisely what one expects. The crucial claim is that
there is a sort of explanation that is tied to conceivability in this way, and that this sort of
explanation is relevant to the explanatory gap. This is the sort of micro-macro
explanation that I earlier called transparent explanation: explanation that makes
transparent why relevant high-level truths obtain, given that low-level truths obtain. If it
is conceivable that the low-level truths obtain without the high-level obtaining, the
explanation will not be transparent in the relevant way. Instead, one will need to appeal to
substantive further principles to bridge the divide between the low-level and high-level
domain. It is just this sort of transparent explanation that is absent in the original
explanatory gap.

An opponent may deny that this sort of transparent explanation is required for a good
reductive explanation or that it is present in typical reductive explanations. Or he may at
least deny this for a notion of transparent explanation that is strongly tied to
conceivability. For example, Block and Stalnaker (2001), Levine (2001), and Yablo
(2002) all argue that typical cases of micro-macro explanation—the explanation of water
in terms of H 2 O, for example—are not associated with an a priori entailment of macro
truths by micro truths. If they are right about this, then insofar as the notion of transparent
explanation is tied to a priori entailment, it is not required for ordinary micro-macro
explanation. I have argued elsewhere (Chalmers and Jackson 2001) that they are not right
about this: even in cases such as the relation between microphysics and water, there is a
sort of associated a priori entailment, and this sort of entailment is crucial for a good
reductive explanation.
It is also worth noting that even if these theorists are right, this will at best undermine a
link between one sort of conceivability and explanation. As before, let us say that S is
negatively conceivable when the truth of S cannot be ruled out a priori. Then the claim
that A entails B a priori is equivalent to the claim that A B is negatively conceivable. If
these theorists are right, then even “zombie-H 2 O” (Levine's (2001) term for a
microphysically identical substance that is not water) will be negatively conceivable, so
that ordinary micro-macro explanation of B by A cannot require that A B is negatively
conceivable. However, Levine himself notes that there is a different sort of “thick”
conceivability such that zombies are conceivable in this sense and zombie-H 2 O is not,
and he notes that this sort of conceivability is tied to explanation: A B is thickly
conceivable if and only if there is an explanatory gap between A and B. If so, we can use
this sort of thick conceivability in the previous arguments.
I think that Levine's thick conceivability corresponds closely to what I earlier called
positive conceivability, which requires a clear and distinct positive conception of a
situation that one is imagining. Positive conceivability is arguably the central
philosophical notion of conceivability. And it is highly plausible that in cases of ordinary
reductive explanations of B by A, A B is not positively conceivable: we can form a
positive conception of a zombie in a way that we cannot form a positive conception of
zombie-H 2 O. Furthermore, this positive conceivability seems to be particularly strongly
associated with the sense of apparent contingency that goes along with the explanatory
gap. So it remains plausible that for the sort of explanation that is relevant here, positive
conceivability of A B entails an explanatory gap between A and B.
An opponent may insist more strongly that no sort of conceivability is tied in this way to
micro-macro explanation. She may hold that this sort of explanation simply requires a
relevant correlation or a relevant identity between the low-level and high-level domains,
whose existence does not require any strong conceptual connection between low-level
truths and high-level truths. I think that this gets the character of micro-macro
explanation wrong, by failing to account for the sense of transparency in a good micro-
macro explanation. But in any case, an opponent of this sort is unlikely to be too worried
by the explanatory gap in the first place. If this sort of move works to dissolve the
explanatory gap between physical processes and phenomenal concepts, say, then it will
work equally well to dissolve the original
end p.188

explanatory gap between physical processes and consciousness. If so, then once again the
phenomenal concept strategy is rendered redundant in explaining the explanatory gap.
Of course, such a theorist may still appeal to the phenomenal concept strategy to explain
the remaining epistemic gaps (such as the conceivability of zombies) in their own right,
independent of any connection to the explanatory gap. Here the general idea will be as
before: there is no valid inference from these epistemic gaps to an ontological gap
because the existence of these epistemic gaps is compatible with physicalism. But as
before, an opponent will question the strategy on the grounds that there is as much of an
epistemic gap between physical processes and phenomenal concepts (as characterized by
the proponent's account), or between phenomenal concepts and our epistemic situation, as
there was between physical processes and consciousness. To respond, the opponent must
either deny this epistemic gap (which will raise all the previous issues) or give
independent reasons to think that the epistemic gap is compatible with physicalism
(which will render the phenomenal concept strategy redundant). Either way, the
theoretical landscape will be much as before.
(Strictly speaking, there may be one version of this strategy on which the theoretical
landscape will differ. A proponent might appeal to phenomenal concepts solely to explain
Mary's new knowledge, without using it to explain either the conceivability of zombies or
the explanatory gap. If so, then the conceivability of zombies who do not satisfy this
account of phenomenal concepts will not raise the usual regress worry. To avoid a
residual epistemic gap with the same character as the original epistemic gap, the
proponent would simply need to make the case that Mary could know all about the
relevant structural features of phenomenal concepts from inside her black-and-white
room. Of course, this proponent will then need some other means to deal with the
conceivability argument, and with the explanatory gaps posed both by consciousness and
by the account of phenomenal concepts.)
In any case, I think that many of the central points of this chapter can also be made
directly in terms of explanation, without proceeding first through conceivability. The
analysis in terms of conceivability is useful in providing a tool for fine-grained analyses
and arguments, and to get a sense of the options in the theoretical landscape. But with
these options laid out, one can also make the case directly that any given account of
phenomenal concepts will generate either an explanatory gap between physical processes
and phenomenal concepts, or between phenomenal concepts and our epistemic situation.
I will make this sort of case in the next section.

Applications

I will now look at some specific accounts of phenomenal concepts in light of the
preceding discussion. If what has gone before is correct, then any fully specific account
of phenomenal concepts will fall into one of two classes. It will be either a “thick”
account, in which the relevant features of phenomenal concepts are not physically
explainable (although they may explain our epistemic situation), or a
end p.189

“thin” account, in which the relevant features of phenomenal concepts do not explain our
epistemic situation (although they may be physically explainable).
I have already discussed the indexical account of phenomenal concepts (of Ismael,
O'Dea, Perry, and others) under the third reaction above. For the reasons given there, I
think that this account is clearly a thin account; for example, it does not adequately
explain the character of Mary's new cognitively significant knowledge. So there is reason
to believe that phenomenal concepts are not indexical concepts.
I have also discussed the dual-conceptual-role account (of Nagel, Hill, McLaughlin, and
others), under the second reaction above. If this account is understood in wholly
functional terms, involving the distinctness in functional role of certain representations in
the brain, then it is clearly a thin account. For reasons discussed earlier, this account may
help to explain an inferential disconnection between physical and phenomenal beliefs, but
it cannot explain the character of phenomenal knowledge. Perhaps the account could be
supplemented by some further element to explain this character (for example, postulating
a special faculty of sympathetic knowledge), but then the original dilemma will arise
once again for the new account.
The “quotational” account (of Block, Chalmers, Papineau, and others) might be
understood either as a thin or a thick account, depending on how it is specified. One may
understand this either in a “bottom-up” way, in which we start with purely
physical/functional materials and make no assumptions about consciousness, or in a “top-
down” way, in which we build consciousness into the account from the start. I will
examine each of these versions in turn.
The bottom-up version of the quotational account is specified in purely
physical/functional terms, without building any assumptions about consciousness. The
basic idea will be that there are some neural states N (those that correspond to
phenomenal states, though we will not assume that) that can come to be embedded in
more complex neural representations by a sort of “quotation” process, which allows the
original state to be incorporated as a constituent. Perhaps this will go along with some
sort of demonstrative reference to the original neural state, so that the complex state has
the form “That state: N.” Of course, it is not obvious that one can explain any sort of
demonstrative reference in physical/functional terms, but I will leave that point aside.
At this point, we can think of the account as an engineer might. If we designed a system
to meet the specifications, what sort of results would we expect? In particular, what sort
of knowledge of state N would one expect? I think the answer is reasonably clear. One
would expect a sort of indexical knowledge of the state, of the form “I am in this state
now.” But one would not expect any sort of cognitively significant knowledge of the
state's intrinsic character. To see this, note that one might design an identical system
where state N is replaced by a different state M (perhaps another neural state, or a silicon
state), with different intrinsic properties. From a bottom-up perspective, we would not
expect this change to affect the epistemic situation of the subject in the slightest. States N
and M may make a difference to the subject's knowledge by virtue of their functional
role, but from an engineering perspective there is no reason to think that the subject has
access to their intrinsic character.
end p.190

So the bottom-up version of the quotational account is best understood as a thin account
of phenomenal concepts. It may ground a sort of indexical or demonstrative knowledge
of neural states, but it cannot ground the sort of significant non-indexical knowledge of
internal states that Mary gains on leaving her black-and-white room. In this respect, the
bottom-up version of the quotational account seems to be no better off than the indexical
account.
On the top-down version of the quotational account, we build consciousness into the
account from the start. In particular, we assume that our initial state Q is a phenomenal
state. (It does not matter to what follows whether we assume in addition that Q is or is not
a neural state, or whether we stay silent on the matter.) We then stipulate a sort of
concept-forming process that incorporates phenomenal states as constituents. Perhaps this
process will involve a sort of demonstrative reference to the original phenomenal state, so
the resulting concept has the form “That state: Q.” What sort of results will we then
expect?
We might then reasonably expect the subject to have some sort of cognitively significant
knowledge of the character of Q. In general, when we make demonstrative reference to
phenomenal states, we can have cognitively significant knowledge of their character. We
could also imagine a functionally identical subject who, in place of Q, has a different
phenomenal state R. In this case, one might expect the substitution to affect the subject's
epistemic situation: the new subject will have cognitively significant non-indexical
knowledge that it is in phenomenal state R, which is quite different from the first subject's
knowledge.
This top-down version of the quotational account is quite clearly a thick account of
phenomenal concepts. By building phenomenal states into the account, it has the capacity
to help explain features of our epistemic situation that the bottom-up account cannot. But
precisely because the account builds in phenomenal states from the start, it cannot be
transparently explained in physical terms. This version of the account presupposes the
special epistemic features of phenomenal states rather than explaining them.
(Papineau's version of the quotational account appears to be a thin version. Papineau
discusses a silicon zombie [2002: 125–27] and suggests that it will have semantic and
epistemic features analogous to those of a conscious being. His account seems to point in
a direction in which the relevant phenomenal knowledge is all a kind of indexical or
demonstrative knowledge, although he does not explicitly make this claim or address the
objections to it. By contrast, my own version of this sort of account (Chalmers 2003a) is
certainly intended as a thick account.)
The recognitional-concept account (of Loar, Carruthers, Tye, and others) can be handled
in a similar way. If we understand the concept in a bottom-up way, involving
recognitional processes triggered by neural states, what sort of knowledge will we
expect? Here, I think we would once again expect a sort of indexical or demonstrative
knowledge of the neural states in question, without any cognitively significant knowledge
of their intrinsic character. Once again, we would expect that substituting one neural state
for another would make no significant difference to a subject's epistemic situation. So
this version of the account can be understood as a thin account.
On the other hand, if we understand the account in a top-down way, as involving
recognitional concepts triggered by phenomenal states, then one might well expect
end p.191

it to lead to significant knowledge of the character of these states. It is plausible that


merely having a phenomenal state enables us to have a conception of its character, by
which we can recognize it (or at least, recognize states reasonably similar to it) when it
reoccurs, and such that substituting a different phenomenal state will make a difference to
our epistemic situation. This top-down account might well capture something about the
difference between a conscious being's epistemic situation and a zombie's situation. But
again, this account presupposes the existence of consciousness, along with some of its
special epistemic features, so the account is clearly a thick account.
(Loar's own account appears to be a thick account. His discussion of phenomenal
concepts presupposes both the existence of consciousness and some of its special
epistemic features. In particular, his account crucially relies on the thesis that phenomenal
states are presented to us under noncontingent modes of presentation, thus enabling
significant knowledge of their character. He defends this assumption by saying that the
nonphysicalist accepts the thesis, so the physicalist is entitled to it as well. But of course,
the thesis poses a special explanatory burden on the physicalist. How can a neural state of
a physical system be presented to a subject under a noncontingent mode of presentation,
thus enabling significant knowledge of its character? Loar does not say.)
What about Sturgeon's account of phenomenal concepts, according to which phenomenal
states constitute their own canonical evidence? I think that this is probably best
understood as a thick account. From a bottom-up perspective, would we expect neural
states to constitute their own canonical evidence? When zombies deploy their analogs of
phenomenal concepts, do they have analogous states that constitute their own canonical
evidence? The answer is not entirely obvious, but on the face of it, the more plausible
answer is no. If so, then Sturgeon's account can be seen as a thick account, one that rests
on a special epistemic feature of phenomenal concepts.
What do the thick accounts of phenomenal concepts have in common? All of them
implicitly or explicitly build in special epistemic features of phenomenal concepts: the
idea that phenomenal states present themselves to subjects in especially direct ways, or
the idea that simply having a phenomenal state enables a certain sort of knowledge of the
state, or the idea that the state itself constitutes evidence for the state. If we build in such
features, then we may be able to explain many aspects of our distinctive epistemic
situation with respect to consciousness. But the cost is that such features themselves pose
an explanatory problem. If these features are powerful enough to distinguish our
epistemic situation from that of a zombie, then they will themselves pose as much of an
explanatory gap as does consciousness itself.
If one rejects physicalism, there is no obvious problem in accommodating these epistemic
features of consciousness. Dualists sometimes postulate an epistemic relation of
acquaintance that holds between subjects and their phenomenal states, and that affords
knowledge of these states. If necessary, a dualist can simply take this relation as
primitive: the dualist is already committed to positing primitive mental features, and this
relation may reasonably be taken to be part of the primitive structure of consciousness.
However, this move is not available to a
end p.192

physicalist. The physicalist must either explain the features or accept a further
explanatory gap.
Our examination of specific accounts of phenomenal concept reaches a conclusion very
much compatible with that of Levine (chap. 8, this volume). It appears that such accounts
either build in strong epistemic relations such as acquaintance, which themselves pose
problems for physical explanation, or they build in weak epistemic relations such as
indexical or demonstrative reference, in which case they cannot explain our epistemic
situation with regard to consciousness. The arguments earlier in the chapter suggest that
this is not a mere accident of these specific accounts that a better account may evade.
Any account of phenomenal concepts can be expected to have one problem or the other.
For this reason, the phenomenal concept strategy cannot reconcile ontological
physicalism with the explanatory gap.

Acknowledgments

This chapter was greatly influenced by a round-table discussion at the 2002 NEH
Summer Institute on Consciousness and Intentionality in which Kati Balog, Ned Block,
John Hawthorne, Joe Levine, and Scott Sturgeon, and others took part. I was also
influenced by Levine's “Phenomenal Concepts and the Materialist Constraint” (chap. 8,
this volume). I first formally presented this chapter at a session on David Papineau's book
Thinking about Consciousness at the 2003 Pacific APA meeting, and since then have
presented it at numerous universities and at workshops in Buenos Aires and Copenhagen.
Thanks to all those present on those occasions for very useful reactions.
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end p.194

ten Direct Reference and Dancing Qualia


John Hawthorne

A direct reference theory for a term holds that the semantic content of that term is the
referent itself. One important group of philosophers defends direct reference accounts for
ordinary proper names and demonstratives, attempting to disarm standard Fregean
complaints that their account generates an unacceptable rift between semantic content
and cognitive significance. A second group accepts the standard style of criticism for
direct reference theories of ordinary singular terms but still maintains a direct reference
theory for a special class of terms whose reference lies within the Cartesian theater of
phenomenal experience. 1 This latter group of philosophers is the concern of this chapter.
I shall undertake to expose a tension between this second species of direct reference
theory and standard antiphysicalist views of phenomenal experience. A single thought
experiment will serve as the centerpiece.

Direct Phenomenal Concepts


There are plenty of ways of thinking and talking about qualia. “Those qualia that I had
yesterday,” “The feel of tension headaches,” “God's favorite type of quale,” and “What
it's like to be a bat” are all perfectly good ways for speaking of the phenomenal world.
Yet there appears to be an especially intimate way of forming a conception of
phenomenal experience. I can focus on a particular experience token
end p.195

and form a conception of a phenomenal kind that the experience falls under. I might
express such a conception as follows: “Thus is one of the ways that I am feeling right
now.” One should not be misled into assimilating such concepts to bare demonstratives
because each involves a conceptualization of a phenomenal type and brings with it
various capacities to discriminate sameness and difference that would not be forthcoming
from any “blind” ostension. Following David Chalmers, let us call this kind of concept a
“direct phenomenal concept.” 2
It is direct phenomenal concepts to which our second group of philosophers attaches a
direct reference theory: the semantic value of a direct phenomenal concept is the
presented phenomenal kind itself. The view is self-consciously Russellian in inspiration:
recall that Russell believed that although the content of, say, “Bismarck” could not be
Bismarck himself, there is a special class of logically proper names (and basic predicates)
that stand for the objects of direct acquaintance, which makes them appropriate to
directly referential semantic treatment. 3

Qualia and the Physical

What is the relation between phenomenal facts and physical facts? The literature divides
between those who take phenomenal facts to be necessitated by physical facts (the most
straightforward version of that view being one according to which phenomenal kinds are
identical to certain physical kinds) and those who take phenomenal facts to be only
contingently related to physical facts: the nomic connections that bridge the gulf between
the physical and phenomenal worlds could have been different. I shall be primarily
concerned with the second, antiphysicalist, position here.
Famously, antiphysicalists are happy to admit the possibility of zombies, beings that
duplicate us in all physical respects, but which lack a phenomenal life. 4 But given the
postulated contingency of the physical to phenomenal connection, there are plenty of
other kinds of physical duplicates that ought to engage the imagination. There is a
physical duplicate of me who shares my qualia on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays
but who is a zombie the rest of the time. 5 There is a physical duplicate of me who
alternates between three seconds of being a zombie and three seconds of phenomenal life.
There is a physical duplicate of me whose
end p.196
phenomenal life duplicates mine except for the fact that, for one brief interval, the qualia
that it has when complaining of pain are of the same type as certain qualia that I have
during certain moments of intense pleasure.
Reflecting on such information, the antiphysicalist is naturally led to allow for episodes
of what Chalmers calls “dancing qualia,” in which there are marked shifts in phenomenal
experience in a subject who does not believe that anything unusual has occurred in his
experiential life. The periodic zombie will believe that he has always had experience
during waking hours. The complaining duplicate with the once-in-a-lifetime substitution
will not register that anything strange is going on.

A Case

Fred and Twin Fred are told that the right-hand side of their phenomenal field is going to
“dance” during a given period of time. More specifically, Fred and Twin Fred are told
that on three or four occasions during a five-minute interval, there will be a sudden
change in the type of qualia that occupy the right-hand side of their phenomenal field
without their knowing that a change has occurred. Fred is lied to: during the relevant five
minutes, no qualia dancing goes on. In fact, his phenomenal theater consists of a
continuous expanse of phenomenal red throughout the period. Twin Fred is not lied to.
(The reader is free to choose between a version of the story where God or a superscientist
told him knowledgeably that his qualia were going to dance or else someone told him on
the basis of a very lucky guess.) At various times during the five minutes, the right side
of his phenomenal field switches from phenomenal red to phenomenal blue and then back
again. Twin Fred, being a physical duplicate of Fred, is altogether unable to say when any
such change occurs. After two minutes, each Fred attends to the left side of his
phenomenal field, forms a direct phenomenal concept of the phenomenal type that is
present there, and utters the triviality, “Thus is Thus,” where the newly minted
phenomenal concept is expressed twice over. 6 After three minutes, Fred and Twin Fred
form a direct phenomenal concept of the phenomenal type on the left of their phenomenal
field and a direct phenomenal concept of the phenomenal type on the right of their
phenomenal field and, albeit hesitantly, make an identity claim, which they express with
the same string of phonemes: “Thus is thus.” 7 , 8 Let us suppose that, once again, they
both express truths. (The qualia were dancing in the right direction for Twin Fred at that
moment.) After four minutes, they again form direct phenomenal concepts of the kinds
displayed on the left and right and, once again, express an identity claim with “Thus is
Thus.” This time Fred expresses a truth, and Twin Fred does not. After four minutes it is
phenomenal blue that occupies the right-hand side of Twin Fred's phenomenal field.

Preliminary Discussion

Consider the standard Fregean case against direct reference theory: 9 Someone who
considers the thought that Hesperus is Hesperus is considering an utter triviality about
which he can be a priori certain. Someone who considers the thought that Hesperus is
Phosphorus is entertaining a thought that cannot be verified a priori, one which instead is
judged true or false on the basis of empirical inquiry. Hence the thought that Hesperus is
Hesperus is a different thought from the thought that Hesperus is Phosphorus. The same
point can be couched in the language of epistemic possibility: 10 it is epistemically
possible that (Hesperus is Phosphorus), but it is not epistemically possible that
(Hesperus is Hesperus).
It is not my concern here to defend Fregean arguments against direct reference theory.
Instead, I wish to press a point that should by now be obvious: if one reckons Fregean
arguments to refute a direct reference theory for ordinary proper names, then one should
take a dim view of those antiphysicalists who propose a direct reference theory for direct
phenomenal concepts. The familiar distinctions that apply to Hesperus/Phosphorus
thoughts can be reenacted at the level of those concepts.
Consider: The first judgment made by Fred and Twin Fred has a priori security. Just as it
is not coherently conceivable that Hesperus is not Hesperus, Fred and Twin Fred would
not find it coherently conceivable that their first judgment is false. 11 Matters are quite
different when it comes to Fred and Twin Fred's second and third judgments. They are
both understandably hesitant with regard to those judgments. And they ought to be
hesitant. The propriety of hesitance is made manifest by Twin Fred's error. None of the
relevant four judgment tokens express a priori knowable thoughts. In each case, it is
epistemically possible that the judgment is false. But if the contents of those thoughts are
individuated in line with a direct reference theory
end p.198

for direct phenomenal concepts, then they will turn out to be the very same thoughts as
the first thought entertained by Fred and Twin Fred, respectively. The salient distinction
between an a priori knowable thought and epistemically risky thoughts will have been
obliterated. Those who reckon the original Fregean line of argument persuasive should
reckon the preceding reflections equally cogent. 12
If he is to maintain his position, the antiphysicalist Russellian will have to insist that
although there is no good a priori justification for the claim that Hesperus is Phosphorus,
there is always a powerful justification available for any thought that expresses the
proposition expressed by Fred's second judgment. 13 , 14 We can easily tell a story about
someone who hesitates about “Hesperus is Hesperus,” even one in which the two tokens
of “Hesperus” were associated with the same “mental file.” Perhaps he is gripped by
some philosophical view claiming that classical identity is incoherent. Perhaps someone
he trusts dupes him into thinking that the claim is false for reasons he cannot grasp. None
of this leads us to deny that there is not an a priori justification available for the thought
that he resists affirming. It might be claimed, by analogy, that Fred and Twin Fred's
hesitation about the proposition expressed by Fred's second judgment should provide no
reason for denying the a priority of that proposition. Fred and Twin Fred have defective a
priori competence, or else are suffering from a kind of noise that interferes with the
exercise of that competence. 15
end p.199
I hope that at least many readers will find this response prima facie implausible. It
contradicts what is intuitively obvious about the case, namely that from an epistemic
perspective, Fred's second judgment has far more in common with the judgment that
Hesperus is Phosphorus than the judgment that Hesperus is Hesperus. But let me pursue
it.

A Priority

Consider a person, Oscar, who speaks both English and French. Using a hybrid of the two
languages, Oscar asks himself, “Is someone bald if, and only if, that person is chauve?”
He dithers for a while, suddenly gripped with the perhaps irrational concern that the
extension of “bald” is slightly different to “chauve,” or perhaps by misleading testimony
informing him (incorrectly) that he had lost a grip on what he himself meant by “bald”
and/or “chauve.” Should we conclude from this dithering that there is no a priori
resolution to the question Oscar is asking himself? We might conclude instead that the
question can be resolved a priori, explaining Oscar's dithering by appeal to imperfections
in his a priori competence, or noise inhibiting its exercise. Here we seem to have a case
of an a priori true identity claim that is flanked by two occurrences of the same concept,
but whose truth is not recognized because of some kind of a priori confusion. The
confusion is not quite like that of a computational failure that inhibits a priori knowledge
of some complicated mathematical identity. In the case we are interested in, the relevant
claim seems to be an a priori trivial identity.
Let us call the kind of a priori confusion manifested by the “bald-chauve” case “Simple
Identity Confusion.” Our antiphysicalist suggests that our target case is an example of
Simple Identity Confusion: the relevant true identity judgment can be verified a priori,
and Twin Fred's inability to do so is ascribable to the kind of a priori confusion that
occurs in the “bald”/“chauve” case.
I fear that our unclarity about the phenomenon of a priority threatens to bring the
dialectic to a grinding halt. I can do little more than offer some programmatic remarks
that will provide at least some reason for being dubious about the prospects for the line of
resistance just sketched.
Let us begin by reflecting a little more carefully on various versions of the
“bald”/“chauve” case. The case is underdescribed, since on some versions it is not
plausible at all to suppose that the case is one of Simple Identity Confusion. Consider, for
example, the following version of the case, one that emphasizes the deferential aspects of
ordinary natural language: Oscar realizes that the extension of “chauve” is constitutively
dependent on the dispositions of a particular linguistic community, while the extension of
“bald” is dependent on the dispositions of a different community. Oscar is deferential
enough to want the semantic value of his own use of “chauve” and “bald” to line up with
the relevant linguistic communities. Oscar now realizes he cannot be a priori secure of an
affirmative answer to the question that he is asking. No Simple Identity Confusion here.
One might suppose, however, that the direct phenomenal concepts that the antiphysicalist
typically
end p.200

appeals to are not supposed to be of a deferential kind. 16 So let us put to one side the
point that deference can undermine a priority.
More pertinent, however, is the following case. Let us grant that Oscar is not deferential
in his use of “chauve” or “bald.” To make this maximally clear, let us imagine that “bald”
and “chauve” belong to two private languages that Oscar has developed for himself.
Suppose further that when entertaining the hybrid question “Is something bald if and only
if it is chauve?” Oscar begins to worry along the following lines: “Perhaps the
dispositions that I have with regard to ‘chauve’ are slightly different from the dispositions
I have with regard to ‘bald’.” Oscar “tries things out” in imagination, checking to see if
his dispositions-in-imagination match up in a range of cases. But it is not clear how much
a priori security this kind of process can give him. For one thing, he will likely have to do
induction on a sample. But there are other kinds of worries, too: Oscar realizes that
“bald” and “chauve” are context dependent. “Perhaps ‘bald’ and ‘chauve’ interact
differently with certain contextual parameters in ways that I am currently unaware of,” he
worries. Furthermore, he realizes that imaginative exercises performed in the cold
comfort of the study could not tell him whether, for example, being placed in very hot
conditions would change his dispositions to apply “chauve” and “bald” in different ways.
More generally, Oscar realizes that he has no a priori security that his dispositions-in-
imagination would match his actual dispositions, and he realizes that if his actual
dispositions for “chauve” and “bald” come apart, that will have semantic consequences.
He realizes further that even if an idealized version of himself ran through all cases in
imagination, this kind of worry would persist.
Oscar may have heard some philosophers suggest that he try to resolve things by directly
inspecting the property of baldness with his mind's eye and see if it was the same as the
property expressed by “chauve.” In the face of such requests Oscar felt that he was
(borrowing the words of Hilbert),
looking for something that can never be found, for there is nothing there, and everything
gets lost, becomes confused and vague, and degenerates into a game of hide-and-seek.
(Coffa 1991: 136) 17
In short, Oscar found his question to be (1) not the kind of thing that can be answered by
any kind of direct a priori inspection of the properties answering to the relevant concepts,
and (2) a question to which a priori trials of his dispositions could at best give an
extremely fallible and tentative answer.
Now there are cases where attempts to undermine a priori security through self-doubts
about one's dispositions ring somewhat hollow. It is not as if we get a faltering a priori
basis for the claim that all bachelors are unmarried by running through our dispositions in
imagination and doing induction from a suitable sample.
end p.201
Here, then, we need to make explicit a further way that the “bald”/“chauve” case was
underdescribed. We might suppose that there is, as a matter of deep psychology, a
semantic rule requiring “bald” and “chauve” to be true of the very same things. One
might try to put flesh on the bones of this picture using various kinds of deep
psychological models. For example: Oscar has a single word in his language of thought,
W, which he sometimes expresses using “chauve,” sometimes using “bald.” 18 (A linguist
might say that there is a single lexical entry in Oscar's language organ 19 : a single word
in Oscar's “I-language” that gets outwardly manifested by two different words in his “E-
language.”) 20 But I do not intend to opt for any particular model here. Let me simply
assume (without argument) that there is sometimes “de jure linkage” between terms and
that at least one important source of a priority is an ability to make judgments that are
sensitive to such linkages (where of course sensitivity to de jure linkage is to be sharply
distinguished from inferences that take claims about such linkages as premises). 21 Here
is not the place to defend the existence of semantic rules and associated de jure linkage at
the level of deep psychology. I shall simply assume that such a natural kind exists. 22
It seems coherent to suppose that two terms lack de jure linkage, and yet it so happens
that one is disposed to apply either term in any case in which one is disposed to apply the
other term (call this being “dispositionally linked”). 23 One should thus sharply
distinguish between two types of cases in which one imaginatively self-examines one's
dispositions to apply a term. Subcase one: as one runs through such cases, one becomes
sensitive to de jure linkage between a pair of terms. Subcase two: two terms are
dispositionally linked, and yet they are not de jure linked. In this case there is no de jure
linkage to become sensitive to; one merely acquires some evidence of dispositional
linkage through one's various imaginative exercises.

The Objection Answered

I have gestured at three models for a priori justification, one of which I suspect to be
bogus.

The bogus model—as I am presenting matters—is that of Platonic Acquaintance: 24 one


inspects a property that one stands in a cognitive acquaintance relationship with and
draws cognitive insights from the process of examination. On a second model, one
acquires a priori justification thanks to one's judgments' being sensitive to de jure linkage
between terms (note here that it is a relation between terms rather than their denotata that
is explanatorily fundamental). An imaginative game of question-and-answer would at
most provide the occasion for, though not the justificatory basis of, the relevant
judgments. On a third picture, an imaginative game of question-and-answer provides the
fundamental evidential basis for a judgment.
Let us return to the case of Fred. I have expressed general misgivings about the Platonic
Acquaintance model. Note, moreover, that such a model seems particularly unpromising
as an account of a possible source of a priori justification in the particular case of Fred.
Where there is a risk of qualia dancing, what could it mean to suppose that one gets a
priori justification by just staring up into Platonic Heaven using the pair of direct
phenomenal concepts? I find such talk utterly unhelpful here.
Let us turn, then, to the second and third models. It does not seem plausible that there is
de jure linkage between the relevant pair of phenomenal concepts, especially when one
reflects that they were wrought from two separate attentional acts, and not definitionally
tied to any scale. Though it may turn out that the two concepts lock on to the same
property, it is unnatural to think of the case as one in which some deep semantic rule
requires them to lock on to the same property. Because there is no de jure linkage to be
sensitive to, the third model is of no use here for describing a source of a priori
justification.
Why have I assumed that the concepts are not de jure tied to some kind of scale? Isn't it
reasonable to suppose, for example, that direct phenomenal concepts get their life by de
jure links to a family of background concepts that together define a phenomenal color
scale? Let us recall that the neo-Russellian group proposes that the reference of a direct
semantic concept is constituted by the presence of the phenomenal property to which it
refers in one's phenomenal theater. Now it is important to see that this semantic thesis is
altogether implausible for concepts that obtain their life via their connections to a scale.
Suppose, by analogy, I am asked to form a concept of the height of a chair. Drawing on a
quantitative or qualitative scale, I form a judgment: The height of the chair is “thus.” In
this case, direct reference semantics for the “thus” is out of the question. This is because
the semantic link to the scale will trump the link to the chair in any case of conflict.
Suppose “thus” stood proxy for “roughly three feet.” There is no requirement at all that
the chair actually be of that height. Hence it would be altogether unacceptable to suppose
that the referent of “thus” was constituted by the height of the chair. Similarly, suppose I
grasped a scale of pain intensities and formed a judgment, “The intensity is thus,”
deploying a concept from the scale. It would be out of the question to suppose that the
referent of the “thus” was constituted by the actual intensity of the pain. If the reference
of a direct phenomenal concept is to be
end p.203

constituted by the phenomenal type presented, then such a concept cannot get its
semantic life from de jure links to a scale. And in that case, a pair of direct phenomenal
concepts formed by two attentional acts cannot get de jure linked to each other via de jure
links to a scale. 25
Let us turn to the dispositional model. Interestingly, there are severe limitations to the
extent to which Twin Fred can test the sameness and difference of the denotata of the
relevant phenomenal concepts by imaginative question and answer. Note that in the case
of “bald” and “chauve,” Oscar could provide himself with neutral descriptions of certain
states of affairs (“a person with x number of hairs arranged thus and so …”) and then
play out his respective dispositions with regard to “bald” and “chauve” in imagination.
But in the case of Twin Fred, it does not seem that any such neutral descriptions are
available. Of course, Twin Fred could instead bring to mind other phenomenal color
experiences and ask whether they fall under the respective concepts. But if one thought
qualia dancing was a live threat, one would be altogether hesitant about one's
discriminatory capacities in new cases and would withhold judgment.
Now there are certain techniques for overcoming skeptical anxieties in the imaginative
question-and-answer game. Suppose you imagine seeing a man who looks a certain way.
You ask yourself whether he is bald. You could make clear to yourself that skeptical
worries about perception are to be laid aside. You might ask yourself the guarded
question: “Would he be bald, assuming that he is the way he looks?” That way, worries
about perceptual misrepresentation could be banished as irrelevant, and you could make
some judgment-in-imagination in comfort. But it is not clear what the analogous move
would come to with phenomenal looks themselves (assuming one does not wish to pursue
the unpromising route of postulating looks of phenomenal looks!). Suppose you are
worried about qualia dancing. You form a direct phenomenal concept and then conjure up
a new quale in imagination, asking yourself whether it falls under the concept previously
formed. If you think that qualia dancing is a risk, then there will be no reasonable way of
overcoming hesitation to apply the concept to new cases. In short, then, if you're faced
with a serious prospect of qualia dancing, dispositional self-examination in imagination is
no good way to test for identities of direct phenomenal concepts that are not de jure
connected.
The upshot ought to be fairly clear: It seems wrong to say that in the case of Fred, an a
priori justification is available for the identity claim. It doesn't exist. The antiphysicalist's
response does not, then, appear to hold much promise as a defensive strategy, at least if
my programmatic sketch is on the right track.
Direct Phenomenal Concepts and Antiphysicalist Arguments
I have been criticizing those who advocate blending (roughly) a Fregean approach to
ordinary terms combined with a Russellian approach to direct phenomenal
end p.204

concepts. Let me now say a little about the wider implications of my critique for the
debate between physicalists and antiphysicalists.
It is well known that a proposition may be metaphysically impossible and yet not a priori
false. Conceivability is not a straightforward guide to metaphysical possibility. Descartes
himself knew this, but he thought that under some special circumstances, conceivability
was a good guide:
The rule “Whatever we can conceive of can exist” is my own, [but] it is true only so long
as we are dealing with a conception which is clear and distinct. (Descartes 1647: 299)
The guiding idea, I take it, is that in a case in which one fully knows what it is that one is
conceiving, then epistemic possibility entails metaphysical possibility. Though the
language of “clear and distinct ideas” has been dropped, the basic idea is very much alive
among Descartes's contemporary rationalist descendents. 26 Intuitively, these descendents
notice that some concepts seem “Twin Earthable” in the way that the concept of water is.
27
For example, the property of evenness seems so fully present to our mind that we
cannot easily imagine an epistemic counterpart who is epistemically “just like us” but
who locks onto a property other than evenness. And it is natural enough to use such
intuitions in support of the idea that we know what it is we are thinking about when we
are thinking about evenness in a way that we may not know what it is that we are
thinking about when competently exercising the concept of water. If we read “not Twin
Earthable” for “clear and distinct,” we arrive at the following version of Cartesian
rationalism:

Rationalism: For thoughts that are not Twin Earthable, epistemic possibility is a guide to
metaphysical possibility.

Descartes tells us, “I can achieve an easier and more evident perception of my own mind
than of anything else” (Descartes 1641: 22–23). This idea finds its natural descendant in
the idea that certain first-person mental concepts are not Twin Earthable. Indeed, direct
phenomenal concepts seem paradigmatically not Twin Earthable. On the face of it, we
know what it is we are thinking about when deploying one in such a way that there could
not be an epistemic counterpart who was thinking about a different property. Such
intuitions underlie Saul Kripke's famous antimaterialist argument in Naming and
Necessity, and provide one of the central motivations for David Chalmers's two-
dimensional semantics. We are quickly led to the following line of thought:

Antiphysicalism: Certain thoughts about qualia are such that if it is metaphysically


possible that they are true, physicalism is not true. Those thoughts are not Twin
Earthable. Moreover, they are epistemically possible (since there is no good a priori case
against them). Therefore, by Rationalism, they are metaphysically possible. Therefore
physicalism is false.

It is easy enough to see how Fred makes trouble for the kind of package offered by
rationalist antiphysicalists of the contemporary stripe. Consider the thought
end p.205

“Thus is not thus,” as entertained by Fred, where the left-hand side of the identity claim
expresses the phenomenal property exemplified by the left half of his phenomenal field,
and the right-hand side expresses the phenomenal property exemplified by the right half.
In fact the properties are identical. So given that direct phenomenal concepts are granted
by all to be rigid, we seem to have a case in which a thought that is reckoned not to be
Twin Earthable is metaphysically impossible and yet not a priori ruled out. 28 Once it is
agreed that the thought is not ruled out a priori, only two options remain:

1. Reject Rationalism.

2. Concede that direct phenomenal concepts are Twin Earthable.

Making a choice here will require careful attention to how the coordinate concepts of
Twin Earthability and epistemic counterpart are going to be unpacked and regimented.
That is not my job here. All that needs to be observed here is that options (1) and (2) each
remove a crucial premise for antiphysicalism.

Extending the Lesson


I have argued that a certain semantic package is implausible for an antiphysicalist who
admits the possibility of dancing qualia. The key thought was that the thought
experiments that motivate a sense-reference distinction for ordinary proper names—
roughly, Hesperus-Phosphorus stories—can be replicated at the level of direct
phenomenal concepts. I have shown how this thought can be motivated within the
framework of a certain kind of antiphysicalism. But it is worth noticing that there may be
powerful motivations for that thought even within other metaphysical frameworks. Thus
the thought that Hesperus-Phosphorus phenomena arise for direct phenomenal concepts
may have a quite general legitimacy. Let me make three observations in this connection.
First, it might well be possible to run the dancing-qualia thought experiment even within
a physicalist framework. 29 Suppose one is a type identity theorist about phenomenal
character: each phenomenal type is identical with some neural type. Consider some such
neural type T, which plays causal role R. It is arguable that the causal role of a neural
state does not provide a sufficient condition for that state: a different state might have had
precisely the same role. Some minimal additional assumptions will allow for the
possibility of a single being in which it is sometimes T that plays role R, but sometimes a
neural state that is type identical with a different phenomenal state type that plays that
role. Within the framework of this kind of physicalism, our central case can be developed
in essentially the same way.
end p.206

Second, I note that if indiscriminability of phenomenal character is intransitive and thus


does not run in tandem with identity of phenomenal type, then a version of the Twin Fred
case may be easy to contrive in the actual world. 30 Suppose two color chips produce
phenomenally indiscriminable and yet phenomenally distinct episodes. A subject will not
be able to rule out a priori the truth of the associated identity claim concerning the
phenomenal characters of each episode. And yet, supposing it is flanked by rigid
designators, it will be false of necessity. Thus the identity will be epistemically possible
and yet metaphysically impossible.
Third, let me raise a challenge that is less theoretically laden. In the case of concepts
pertaining to the empirical world, it is possible to have identity claims (about objects or
properties) that are necessarily true or false without being a priori resolvable one way or
another, even by someone who is fully competent (in any reasonable sense of “fully
competent”) with the relevant concepts. This is because conceptual competence with
empirical concepts does not bring with it a capacity to make the relevant discriminations
of identity and difference. But many philosophers tacitly adopt a picture according to
which, by contrast, conceptual competence with direct phenomenal concepts
automatically brings with it a capacity to discriminate identity and difference of the
associated properties. They allow that someone may in fact not spot the relevant identity
or difference in a particular case, even a competent person. But such a case would then be
explained away as a kind of competence-performance breakdown. In the case of planets,
a failure to spot identity and difference in certain cases does not compel us to say that
one's conceptual competence is somehow imperfect, nor that the failure issues from a
noise-involving competence-performance gap. Why should things be different in kind
when it comes to phenomenal types?
Of course, one could stipulate a notion of competence such that competence in the
phenomenal case brings with it a capacity to spot identity and difference—and hence that
a competent person's failure to do so has to be ascribable to some sort of noise impeding
the exercise of that capacity. But then it is far from clear that any of us is competent with
phenomenal concepts in that sense. Pending some compelling defense of the thesis that
we have some kind of capacity for perfect discrimination in the special case of direct
phenomenal concepts, the neo-Russellian semantic package that has been our focus ought
to look extremely suspect from the outset.
The issues can sometimes get obscured by stipulatory tactics concerning the notion of
evidence. If we stipulate that one's phenomenal qualia are always part of one's evidence,
then we can say that one always has evidence for identity judgments about qualia types
that are manifested in one's current phenomenal theater. We can then say that Twin Fred
and Fred are in different evidential situations and that Fred's evidential situation, unlike
Twin Fred's, is one in which he has compelling evidence for each judgment described in
the original case. Now in general we are not inclined to reckon facts that a subject is
incapable of discriminating as part of the subject's evidence. Why are judgments
expressed by direct phenomenal
end p.207

concepts so different? It is manifestly absurd to say that the fact that Hesperus is
Phosphorus provides evidence for a belief that Hesperus is Phosphorus even if someone
had no facility for discriminating that fact. And it is similarly absurd to say that the fact
that one has 2,003 phenomenal red dots in one's Cartesian theater provides evidence for a
belief in that fact even if someone had no facility for dot-counting. With this in mind,
focus now on a qualia-dancing world in which one's left and right fields have different
colors and in which an associated nonidentity claim “Thus is not thus” is true. One has no
capacity whatsoever for discriminating that truth but forms the belief in the nonidentity
claim just for the hell of it. Isn't it equally bad here to insist that one has evidence for
one's belief?
The philosophers I am criticizing are trying to make good on a pair of ambitions: they
want the propositional content of a thought token to code whether that token has an a
priori justification, and they want to combine this with a direct reference semantics for
certain concepts pertaining to phenomenal qualia. Now it is relatively easy to see that in
the case of ordinary proper names, direct reference semantics is incompatible with the
thesis that the a priority of a thought token turns on the proposition it expresses. 31 What I
have tried to show is that a similar incompatibility holds even when one restricts one's
direct reference semantics to certain phenomenal concepts. The task of clarifying a
priority, propositional content, and the relation between them is difficult, and much
remains to be said about it. I hope I have at least clarified one corner of the terrain.

Acknowledgments
I am extremely grateful for discussions with David Chalmers. Many of the ideas and lines
of thought pursued here had their roots in our conversations. I was also helped by
discussions with and/or comments from Torin Alter, Brian Weatherson, Timothy
Williamson, and audiences at the Universities of Nebraska and Texas at Austin.

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philosophische Kritik 100: 25–50. Translated as On Sinn and Bedeutung, in The Frege
Reader, ed. M. Beaney: 151–71. Oxford: Blackwell, 1997.
Kripke, S. (1972). Naming and Necessity. In The Semantics of Natural Language, ed. G.
Harman and D. Davidson. Dordrecht: Reidel. Reprinted as Naming and Necessity.
Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1980.
Russell, B. (1918). The Philosophy of Logical Atomism. Monist 28. Republished in The
Philosophy of Logical Atomism, ed. D. Pears: 35–155. LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1985.
Soames, S. (2003). Beyond Rigidity. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Williamson, T. (1990). Identity and Discrimination. Oxford: Blackwell.
end p.209

eleven Property Dualism, Phenomenal Concepts, and the Semantic


Premise
Stephen L. White

Phenomenal Concepts
The property dualism argument originated in an objection to theories that entail two
theses: that mental states such as pain are identical to physical states of the brain and that
mental-physical identities are a posteriori. 1 Suppose that pain is identical to C-fiber firing
(CFF). Since the identity is a posteriori, a subject unaware of this fact could rationally
believe what would be expressed by saying, “I am in pain, but my C-fibers are not
firing.” The subject is saved from irrationality, despite believing incompatible things of
the same event—the occurrence of the pain that is the firing of the C-fibers—by the fact
that that event figures in the conjunctive belief under two distinct modes of presentation.
In one, we take it, the pain (= the CFF) is given as a certain kind of brain state, and in the
other it is given in the way pains are normally given when one has them. And suppose we
think, in the first instance, of modes of presentation as aspects of the way we represent
the world and not the world itself. (Call these representational modes of presentation
[RMPs].) Then it seems that there must be corresponding features or properties of items
in the world (in this case, features of the C-fiber firings)—by virtue of which the
representational modes of presentation pick them out. (Call such features
nonrepresentational modes of presentation [NMPs].) It is the burden of the property
dualism argument to show that the feature or property of CFF by virtue of which it is
picked out by an expression such as “my pain” (under normal circumstances) must be
mental. Thus the argument purports to show that a full explanation of the a posteriori
character of such mental-physical event identities presupposes a higher level mental-
physical dualism (property dualism). If so, then such identity theories are incompatible
with a physicalist conception of the world.
end p.210

Proponents of the so-called phenomenal concepts analysis of such mental-physical


identities claim to answer this objection to physicalism (Loar 1990/97; Block, chap. 12,
this volume). Such analyses purport to do full justice to the meaning and the a posteriori
character of these identities in physicalist terms and their proponents have offered
allegedly conclusive objections to the property dualism argument itself. In this section, I
shall address these analyses directly and argue that there is no alternative here to property
dualism. I shall then go on to present a version of the property dualism argument and to
address the relevant objections.
Phenomenal concepts analyses entail that phenomenal concepts, such as the concept of
being a pain, satisfy three conditions.

(1) Phenomenal concepts are not equivalent to physical-functional concepts. Hence,


contrary to what is believed by analytical functionalists, for example, identities such as
“pains are identical with C-fiber firings” are, as alleged, a posteriori.

(2) Phenomenal concepts pick out their referents directly. The relation of “pain” to pain,
then, is not mediated by a mode of presentation of pain. In this it differs from the
referential relation commonly thought to hold between “Hesperus” or “Phosphorus” and
Venus.
The ordinary assumption is that the reference, for example, of “Hesperus” to Venus is
mediated by a description such as “the first heavenly body visible in the evening.” And it
is assumed that “Hesperus” picks out Venus by virtue of the latter's having the property
expressed by the predicate contained in such a description—the property, in this case, of
being the first heavenly body visible in the evening. To say that the referential relation of
“pain” to pain is unmediated by a mode of presentation (in any ordinary sense) is not, of
course, to say how phenomenal concepts do pick out their referents. On this score there
are two distinct suggestions.

a.Recognitional concept view. Phenomenal concepts are type demonstratives that pick
out the properties to which they refer by virtue of the successful concept user's capacity
to recognize the relevant properties. For example, one might refer to “that taste” or to
the occurrence of “that shade of red,” and one might have the capacity not only to
discriminate them now but to recognize them under other (e.g., counterfactual or
future) circumstances. (Loar 1990/97: 600–03)

b. Quotation concept view. Phenomenal concepts are sometimes alleged to pick out the
properties they do by virtue of their “embedding” or “quoting” of instances of those
properties. For example, the concept expressed by “this kind of pain” may actually
embed an instance of the type of pain in question. (Block 2002: 396–98; Block, chap.
12, this volume)

(3) Phenomenal concepts are not “blind.” On the recognitional concept view, we have a
(second-order) phenomenal concept of what all (first-order) phenomenal properties have
in common. Alternatively, we might put this by saying that we have a recognitional
concept of what is common to all the things in all the extensions of the first-order
phenomenal concepts (something we might call their “phenomenality”).

Thus we have a concept of what it is by virtue of which phenomenal states differ from
those picked out by (mere) self-directed recognitional concepts. And according to the
recognitional concepts view, it is a confusion between phenomenal concepts and mere
self-directed recognitional concepts that leads to the charge that
end p.211

applications of the former are blind (Loar 1990/97: 603–04). Those who hold the
quotation concept view, of course, already have a reply to the charge of blindness. For
those who hold this version of the phenomenal concept view, in deploying such concepts
we actually have (or have something similar to) an experience of the type that the concept
picks out.
The question now is whether phenomenal concepts supply an adequate explanation of the
a posteriori character of mental-physical identities. There is an obvious temptation to say
yes, since it is a basic tenet of the theory of phenomenal concepts that they are not
equivalent to any concepts in the physical-functional domain. This point could be spelled
out further by saying that the two sorts of concepts have different conceptual or
inferential roles. There are no relevant entailment relations between them, and, prior to
the discovery of the a posteriori mental-physical identities, they are triggered by different
sorts of experiences. For example, the experience that is ordinarily expressed by “I'm in
pain” is triggered by pain as it is normally given to the subject of the experience. In
contrast “my C-fibers are firing” is (for those who have the concept) triggered by (what is
alleged to be) the same state as given through the experience of brain-scan devices and
the like.
Plausible as this sounds, however, it must, it seems, be wrong. What is required to
explain fully the a posteriori character of the mental-physical identities is not just that the
concepts flanking the identity sign have different conceptual roles in this sense. What is
required is an explanation of how the subject who claims sincerely not to believe such an
identity takes the world to be. This is because the view that such identities have an a
posteriori character entails that a subject could be fully rational while failing to believe or
disbelieving them. Thus there must be a clear account of what the world would be like if
it were the way that such an uninformed or misinformed (but still fully rational) subject
took it to be. For suppose there were no such account, that every attempt to provide one
led to incoherence. Then the truth of at least some of the mental-physical identities would
be a priori, and the proponent of the phenomenal property approach to mental-physical
identities would lack an explanation of their alleged a posteriori character.
Call the requirement that there be a coherent account of what the world would be like if it
were the way such an uninformed or misinformed subject takes it to be the requirement
of representational coherence. What we have just seen is that representational coherence
is forced upon us by the assumption that the identities in question are a posteriori. And
this requirement is stronger than Frege's constraint as it is normally understood. Schiffer
formulates Frege's constraint as follows:
If x believes y to be F and also believes y not to be F, then there are distinct modes of
presentation m and m′ such that x believes y to be F under m and disbelieves y to be F
under m′. (1978: 180)
But although this is entailed by representational coherence, it does not explicitly say that
the modes of presentation should be such that representational coherence is satisfied.
To see that representational coherence is what is required, notice that there is a sense in
which Frege's constraint is satisfied in the case of the person who (as we would say)
believes that 27 + 17 = 44. There is clearly a sense in which the subject
has different modes of presentation of 44 associated with the two numerical expressions.
The subject may recognize that it is twice 22, for example, under the mode of
presentation associated with the right-hand expression, but not under the mode of
presentation associated with the left-hand expression. Moreover, this subject satisfies all
of the conditions that we earlier imagined the phenomenal property theorist offering as
his or her account of the a posteriori character of the relevant mental-physical identities.
First, the two referring expressions have different conceptual roles. That is, the subject
doesn't infer (or become disposed to assent to) sentences containing one from sentences
containing the other. Second, he or she does not associate them with different evidential
conditions (e.g., counting out 44 objects by counting to 44; counting out 44 objects by
counting to 27, then counting to 17). But 27 + 17 = 44 is not a posteriori. Hence what we
imagined the phenomenal property theorist as offering is insufficient.
Can the phenomenal property theorist give us more by way of explanation of the a
posteriori character of the mental-physical identities? In particular, can such a theorist do
justice to representational coherence? It seems not. To satisfy representational coherence
in the case of such alleged identities as “pain = CFF,” we need a coherent possibility to
serve as the content of the belief of the misinformed subject who disbelieves all such
mental-physical identities. But such a coherent possibility is just a possible world (where
the notion of possibility in question is simply noncontradiction). Suppose there is such a
possible world—one describable in complete detail without contradiction—at which pain
is not identical to CFF or any other physical event. Alternatively, suppose there is a
possible world where, though pain is a physical event, the qualitative aspect of pain is not
identical with any physical property. Or suppose there is such a world where some
property of the qualitative aspect of pain, such as the property of being hurtful, is not
identical with any physical property. And so on. Then it is actually the case that one of
these properties is not identical to any physical property, and we have the conclusion of
the property dualism argument.
Suppose, then, that there is no such world at which pain and CFF come apart. Assuming
that the identity is not false, it seems that we have two possibilities. It may be that there is
no such coherent possibility, that the identity is, contrary to what we had assumed, a
priori and that the subject who disbelieves it is irrational. But if this is not the case, then it
seems that the subject hasn't any identity or nonidentity in mind (in any ordinary sense).
This amounts to a form of eliminativism. (See the discussion of local eliminativism
below.) At most, it might be said that the subject who believes the identity has in mind
the identity of CFF with itself. But this is something he or she could have known a priori.
The association that a subject would express by saying “CFF is this feeling,” then, would
add no new fact to what the subject could have known without the experience of pain.
What a subject who had lacked the experience would gain, we would have to suppose, in
coming to believe that pain = CFF would be a new set of skills. This supposition would
be analogous to the Lewis-Nemirow response to the Mary example (Jackson 1986,
Nemirow 1990, Lewis 1988). I have no objection to such an account. Indeed, I am
sympathetic to the view that what Mary gains is a set of action capacities. I believe,
however, that such an analysis will be irreducibly
end p.213

intentional and qualitative and, hence, of no use to the physicalist. 2 This is, in any case,
not the line that the phenomenal concepts theorist takes (as Loar and Block make
explicit), since such a theorist is committed to there being genuinely mental concepts in
the identities in question. Thus I shall not attempt here to provide the argument for the
irreducibly intentional and qualitative character of the skills in question.
Suppose, however, that the assumption behind this argument is denied. That is, suppose it
is held that one's belief that pain is not identical with CFF can have genuine content, even
though there is no possible world that is the way one takes the actual world to be. And
assume that despite the lack of such a possible world, one can be fully rational in holding
it. What, though, does the content of the identity consist in? The answer for phenomenal
property theorists—both those who hold that such concepts are a matter of type
demonstratives backed by a recognitional capacity and those who hold that they are type
demonstratives backed by a more or less permanent access to the demonstratum in
question—is demonstrative or direct reference. The suggestion, then, is that whatever is
going on on the “CFF side” of the identity, on the “pain side” there is simply an
unmediated connection between the word “pain” and its referent. Because the referent is
given directly, there is no mode of presentation under which it is given and, hence,
nothing on the side of the object (no property) by virtue of which the object is given
under that mode of presentation. And since it seems clear that demonstrative reference
gives us genuine representational content, it seems that the question of what the content
of the identity is cannot pose a problem for the physicalist and phenomenal concepts
theorist.
But could the need for a possible world that would rationalize the subject who believes
that he or she is in pain but that his or her C-fibers are not firing really be denied in this
way? It may appear so. Suppose it is said that such a subject is in a direct or
demonstrative relation to the pain (i.e., the CFF) by virtue of which it is picked out by
“pain” and in another relation to it (mediated by its tendency to cause certain instrument
readings and the like) by virtue of which it is picked out by “CFF.” It could then be
supposed that the rationality of the subject's disbelief in the existence of the CFF is
explained by the subject's ability to imagine the pain (i.e., the CFF) without the usual
(physical/theoretical) evidence of its existence. And for those who take this line it would
be the existence of possible worlds at which pain exists without the usual third-person
evidence that explains the rationality of such disbelief (Boyd 1980).
This last claim, however, seems obviously false. It seems that we can imagine the pain
(or the feeling of the pain, the hurtful aspect of the feeling, etc.) without the CFF itself,
and not merely without its usual physical/theoretical manifestations. To see the problem
for the phenomenal concepts theorist, imagine an example in which the subject has access
to the pain via two demonstrative relations. The first we can take, as the phenomenal
concepts theorist does, to be one in which the subject refers directly or demonstratively to
“this pain.” The second, we can suppose, is one in which he or she refers directly or
demonstratively (via brain scan
end p.214

devices or the like) to “that brain state.” 3 Since it is the phenomenal concepts theorist's
claim that in such cases there is direct reference and no mode of presentation, he or she
has no account of the rationality of error in this case in which both references are direct.
And this simply points up the fact that it is not true that demonstrative reference is
accomplished without a mode of presentation of the object—a fact that Gareth Evans's
(1982) and David Austin's (1990: chaps. 1–3) examples of the demonstrative versions of
Frege's problem make clear. Though the mode of presentation may not be (and cannot
always be; see Austin 1990) linguistic-descriptive, such modes of presentation must exist
and must represent the object if we are to explain the possibility of rational error in
examples of this kind. In the case of both references (“this pain,” “that brain state”) our
access to the CFF is via an aspect of it—just as is our access to the ship in the Evans case
in which we say “that ship” while pointing out the right-hand window to the bow and
“that ship” while pointing out the left-hand window to the stern. Similarly we have our
recognitional capacities by virtue of different aspects of the objects recognized. (Many
people could recognize Tony Blair by virtue of his facial features under normal
circumstances, but not by virtue of any other properties—e.g., what he would look like at
a costume party or made up for an amateur theatrical.)
Since both references (“this pain” and “that brain state”) presuppose modes of
presentation and aspects (or properties) of the referent by virtue of which these modes of
presentation pick it out, the idea (on which the phenomenal concepts view is based) of
ordinary objects or events being literally their own modes of presentation cannot be made
to work. The mistake seems to stem from a confusion between direct reference as it is
currently understood (reference unmediated by linguistic-descriptive content) and
Russellian acquaintance (Russell 1918). Were our references to our own pains direct in
the Russellian sense—were they analogous to the reference, according to Russell, of the
so-called logically proper names (“this,” “that”) to sense data—the referents would
indeed be their own modes of presentation. But direct reference in this sense is possible
precisely because sense data are thin. That is, they have no intrinsic features besides those
of which the subject is immediately aware, and hence cannot figure in true, a posteriori
mental-physical identities of the kind with which we are concerned. I conclude that direct
reference in the current sense cannot play the role for which the phenomenal concepts
theorist has it slated. Such theorists have given us no argument against representational
coherence and hence no plausible alternative to the property dualist account of rational
error regarding the mental-physical identities in question. I turn, then, to the positive
argument that an adequate explanation of the a posteriori character of the relevant
mental-physical identities presupposes the postulation of irreducibly mentalistic entities.
end p.215

The Explanation of A Posteriori Identities

An explanation of the possibility of true a posteriori identities requires two distinct


representational modes of presentation (RMPs) of the object in question. We could not,
for example, represent the beliefs of a subject who (as we would say) fails to recognize
that the morning star and the evening star are one and the same planet solely in terms of a
singular proposition. (A singular proposition in this case would associate Venus—the
planet itself—with the property of being self-identical (Schiffer 1978).) This is clear
because the denial of the identity of Venus with itself would be irrational. The two RMPs
in question, however, must be capable of rationalizing—that is, justifying rationally—the
beliefs (as well as the intentions and actions) of a subject who believes something of the
object under one mode of presentation and fails to believe it or disbelieves it under the
other. And such a justification must be available at the personal level and must
characterize the way the world presents itself to the subject.
We can, as we have seen, go a step further. The explanation of such an a posteriori
identity requires a set of possible worlds (worlds completely describable without
contradiction) 4 that capture the content of the relevant beliefs of a subject whom we can
describe as believing and as not believing or as disbelieving something of the same
object. We put this by saying that what is required is a set of possible worlds that are the
way the subject takes the actual world to be. And this is for three related reasons.
First, suppose that there were no such set of worlds. Suppose, on the contrary, that every
attempt to describe a possible world that would rationalize and justify the subject's beliefs
brought to light a hidden contradiction. Then, far from rationalizing the subject, we
would have revealed the subject's irrationality. But, if there is no way to rationally fail to
believe or to disbelieve the identity in question, then the identity is not a posteriori but a
priori, and it was the possibility of true a posteriori mental-physical identities for which
we were committed to providing an explanation.
Second, as I claimed above, in the absence of a characterization of the contents of the
subject's beliefs by reference to a set of possible worlds that characterize the way the
subject takes the world to be, we cannot claim to have captured the contents of the beliefs
at all. What we believe is something about the world and reflects a way it could be, could
become, or could have been. This idea is reflected in the very notion of an intentional
state's pointing beyond itself and in the idea of an external state of affairs' making such an
intentional state true or accurate or veridical—the idea being that true or accurate
intentional states are so by virtue of “truth makers” (or an appropriate counterpart in the
case of accuracy).
Third, and a related point, is that the notion of a possible world (or relevant equivalent) is
presupposed by the vehicle/content distinction for beliefs—that is, the distinction
between what a belief represents and what does the representing. Neither the inferential
role that a belief plays nor the network of connections that
end p.216

exist by virtue of the word-to-word connections in the subject's language nor the
functional or physical realization of such items is sufficient to give the subject's beliefs
genuine content. In the absence of connections between the subject's words and the
world, such inferential or word-to-word (or concept-to-concept) connections generate
either a vicious circle or an infinite regress. In either case, they provide the subject no
more than an uninterpreted formal calculus. We can put the point another way by saying
that the content of belief is a matter of a condition on the world (a way the world must be
if the belief is to be accurate), not merely a condition of the believer. 5

The A Priori Connection between Representational and Nonrepresentational Modes of


Presentation

To say that there must be a set of possible worlds that rationalize the beliefs (and the
actions and intentions) of the subject who (as we would say) doesn't believe or
disbelieves the identity in question, however, raises an obvious problem. In the case of an
identity such as “the morning star = the evening star,” there is no possible world with
respect to which, or at which, it fails to hold for the simple reason that there is no world
at which Venus is not identical with itself. What could justify what purports to be a belief
to the contrary? The answer, of course, is a set of worlds at which the properties
associated with two distinct RMPs are instantiated by distinct objects. The properties, for
example, associated with “the last heavenly body visible in the morning” and “the first
heavenly body visible in the evening,” though they are actually coinstantiated by Venus,
could obviously have been instantiated by different things.
What, though, is the nature of the association between the properties and the RMPs? The
set of possible worlds that justify the subject's belief must be worlds that are the way the
subject takes the actual world to be. Thus the connection between the RMP and its
associated property could only be one that was given to the subject in question. Therefore
it would have to be an a priori connection by virtue of the content of the RMP (for the
subject)—or an a posteriori connection by virtue of the subject's empirical beliefs. And
we can eliminate the latter alternative by considering subjects who lack any relevant
beliefs. In the current context this means that we can consider subjects who have no
empirical beliefs that would connect pain as it is experienced directly from the first-
person point of view (no mediation of brain scan devices, etc.) with any internal state
characterized in neurophysiological, physical, natural, or indeed objective terms. Thus,
for present purposes, we can eliminate the connection(s) via empirical beliefs. We can
say that

there must be an a priori connection between the subject's term (e.g., “pain”), and its
associated RMP, and the property (NMP) by virtue of which that term picks out the state
it does. (Call this the a priori condition.)
It follows, for example, that we could not answer the objection that a circular system or
an infinite regress of word-to-word connections leaves us with only an uninterpreted
calculus by appealing to bare causal relations. We could not, that is, answer the objection
by postulating an inferential network realized in the functional system constituted by the
brain and connected to the world via external causal relations. For these are relations that
need not be accessible at the personal level, and the justificatory role that the RMPs and
the NMPs are postulated to play requires that the justification be available to the subject
in question. That is, the appeal to external causal connections is incompatible with the
goal of rationalizing the subject with respect to the belief(s) under consideration.
The inadequacy of bare causal relations in this context can be seen clearly in light of the
following examples. Imagine that on the subject of Jones's honesty, Smith is genuinely
irrational. Smith believes in some contexts that Jones is fundamentally honest and
trustworthy and in others that Jones is fundamentally dishonest and not to be trusted.
Suppose also that Smith himself would have no difficulty recognizing and
acknowledging his own inconsistency were his tendency (both to affirm and deny Jones's
honesty) pointed out. We would say in this case that in the relevant sense, Smith has only
one representational mode of presentation of Jones. That is, the same mode of
presentation figures in both his beliefs that Jones is honest and that Jones is dishonest.
(To use the file-keeping metaphor, he has, at the personal level, only one file associated
with the name “Jones.”) In terms of my earlier formulation, then, there are not two
properties associated a priori with different linguistic expressions (or different tokens of
the same linguistic expression) such that those properties could have been associated with
distinct objects.
This example shows, however, that the a priori condition (the requirement that the NMP
be connected a priori to the corresponding RMP) is necessary for justification. For
suppose that, without Smith's knowing it, he is in contact with two distinct people—Jones
and his dishonest twin. And suppose that in those contexts in which Smith is disposed to
believe that Jones is honest, Smith is almost always in contact with Jones, and that in
those in which he is disposed to believe the contrary, he is in causal contact with Jones's
dishonest double. Would this in any way undercut the assessment of Smith as irrational
on the subject of Jones's dishonesty? The answer is no. As we have seen, Smith himself
would describe his beliefs as irrational were the inconsistency pointed out, and (were it
pointed out) he could recognize his relevant dispositions to behave as pragmatically self-
defeating by his own lights. Thus it seems clear that we cannot rationalize an otherwise
irrational belief set by appealing to subpersonal functional states and external causal
chains to which the subject has no access.
Moreover, just as we cannot rationalize an otherwise irrational subject by appeal to such
subpersonal or external considerations, so such considerations cannot turn an otherwise
rational subject into an irrational one. Consider again the subject who believes something
of Venus (say, that it is hot) under the RMP
end p.218

(associated with) “the morning star” and something incompatible (say, that it is cold)
under the RMP (associated with) “the evening star.” We say that such a subject is
rational because although he or she believes incompatible things of the same planet, there
are two routes to the referent consisting in two distinct RMPs and two appropriately
related NMPs. Now imagine that we make the following scientific discovery.
Astrophysicists find that the two alleged properties (being close enough to the Earth to be
visible and being such as to outshine all competitors in the morning, and being so
constituted in the evening) are actually both explained by a single underlying property of
Venus's trajectory—say the property of being T. And imagine that being T has far greater
explanatory power than any of the commonsense or theoretical properties of Venus to
which we currently appeal. Suppose, finally, that on the grounds that properties must pull
their weight in a causal-explanatory scheme, it is concluded that there is only one
property of Venus—the property of being T—by virtue of which each of the two RMPs
picks it out.
Should we conclude that in this case there is only one way in which Venus is being
conceived and that the subject is therefore irrational in believing incompatible things of
it? It seems clear that we should not. For it is perfectly coherent, perfectly intelligible,
that the world should have been such that the last heavenly body visible in the morning
was distinct from the first heavenly body visible in the evening. This is a real possibility,
even if it is not a physical possibility (given what we are assuming are the physical laws
and initial conditions). And we are committed to making sense of this possibility (either
to explain the rationality of the subject or simply because we are committed to claims
about the consequences had the laws or initial conditions been different). Thus we are
committed to the existence of properties that do not pull their weight in a causal-
explanatory scheme. At least this is so if a causal-explanatory theory is one that explains
the physical/causal events at the actual world. 6 Suppose, however, that this possibility
that contravenes the actual laws of physics is a real one—a way the world could have
been that is fully describable without contradiction. Then it is impossible to see what
could be meant by saying that a subject who believes the world is this way and acts
accordingly is thereby being irrational. And it seems that no empirical discovery could
undermine this assessment.

Property Dualism and the Threat of Local Eliminativism

Some will likely object to the account above on grounds that rationality is misconstrued.
Rationality is (they will argue) a matter of the distinctness of the subject's RMPs, not the
property or properties or NMPs by virtue of which they pick out their referent. That is to
say, to the extent that intentionality requires two routes to an object of which the subject
believes incompatible things, the two routes are
end p.219

provided by the difference in RMPs (such as the difference between “the morning star”
and “the evening star”). On this view (call it the single property view), the fact that both
routes go through—or pick out the object by virtue of—the same property (the property
of being T) is unproblematic. Rationality, they would say, is a matter of the a priori and
the a posteriori, whereas properties and possible worlds are a matter of possibility and
necessity—and there is no excuse for confusing the two. (I shall discuss the modal issues
surrounding the distinctions among so-called conceptual possibility, metaphysical
possibility, and strong metaphysical possibility in more detail below.)
Such a stark distinction, however, with its obvious Kripkean overtones, represents, I
believe, a misunderstanding of Kripke's contribution. For consider that a priority and
necessity (as they are used here) are both intimately connected with the idea of a possible
world as something completely describable without contradiction. What the person
believes is the case is a way that the world could (logically or conceptually) be, hence a
way that the world could be that cannot be ruled out a priori. Thus it is a way that the
world could be that is describable without contradiction, and therefore a way the world
could be that is representable by a set of possible worlds. To suppose otherwise is, as we
have seen, to confuse the vehicle of belief with the content.
Suppose we assume otherwise. Suppose it is suggested that differences in the modes of
presentation required to explain the a posteriori character of the identities in question
could consist in causal differences alone, unavailable to the subject at the personal level.
To accept such a suggestion (if it does not simply stem from a confusion of vehicle and
content) is to adopt a position that commits one to what I shall call local eliminativism.
Eliminativists regarding intentionality eschew talk of content altogether in favor of an
explanation of behavior in terms drawn from the natural sciences. Similarly the local
eliminativist eschews such talk in particular local contexts—in this case in precisely those
contexts in which an explanation of the a posteriori character of (or the possibility of
rational nonbelief or disbelief in) necessary identities is required. (These contexts we
might, for obvious reasons, call the Fregean contexts). Local eliminativism, however, is
untenable because it is unstable. If we are committed to ascribing beliefs in such a way as
to rationalize the subject (by and large), then we are committed to doing so across the
board. And if we have no such commitment, then it is unclear what we could mean by the
ascription of content, and we should become, regarding intentionality, eliminitivists pure
and simple. 7 But whatever form of eliminativism is in question, it is clear that it rules out
participation in the debate over the property dualism argument. For that debate turns on
the requirements of our making sense of a posteriori identities. And for a proposition to
be a posteriori is simply for it to be one that one could be rational in believing and
rational in disbelieving or in failing to believe.
The person who claims that the a posteriori character of an identity is a matter of there
being distinct representational modes of presentation of the object but not
end p.220

distinct properties, then, is in the grip of an overly rigid distinction between the a
posteriori and the contingent. But to say this is not to address directly the question of
where the objection goes wrong. The direct answer is that the proponent of the objection
has no adequate account of what the distinctness of the two RMPs consists in—that is, no
account that would justify the claim that the a posteriori character of the identity had been
adequately explained. What, after all, could the distinctness of the RMPs consist in on
such an account?
Certainly an orthographic difference—e.g., a distinction that consists in a difference in
the inscription type or inscription token of the RMPs—would not be adequate. Consider
the distinct inscription types “Ned,” “Block,” “Ned Block,” and “Professor Block.” Since
I know one and only one person named “Ned” and one and only one person named
“Block” I use these terms completely interchangeably (subtleties of style and
appropriateness to the social context aside). If, then, I believe what I would express by
saying something of the form “Ned is F” and what I would express by saying something
of the form “Block is not F,” I could not appeal to the orthographic difference in the
RMPs to rebut the charge that I am irrational. Thus an orthographic difference alone
cannot provide the explanation of a posteriority that the objection in question
presupposes.
The problem, in this case, is, of course, that “Ned” and “Block,” though they are
orthographically different, have the same underlying causal, functional, and inferential
role. Can the proponent of the single property model simply point to this difference in
support of the claim that distinctness of the RMPs alone provides the explanation of the a
posteriori character of the identity in question? Again there is no help for the
physicalist—this time because neither causal-functional role nor inferential role (nor both
taken together) are sufficient to give token utterances or inscriptions genuine
representational content. As we have seen, such purely internal connections alone could
never give us more than an uninterpreted calculus. And to suppose that this is all there is
to our system of beliefs is to fail once again to distinguish the contents from the vehicles
of those beliefs or to opt for local eliminativism.
We need, therefore, in addition to the functional or inferential role of our internal
representations, some connection between those representations and the world. Could we
say, then, that the combination of causal-functional role, together with an external causal
connection to things in the world is sufficient? (This is perhaps the picture with which the
proponent of the single property view is operating.) Again, however, the answer is no, as
we saw in connection with the Smith example above. For although a system of beliefs
interpreted in this way is not an uninterpreted system (in the way that a formal calculus
for which we have provided no semantics is), the interpretation is not of a kind that
allows us to do justice to the rationality of the subject in question. That is, we cannot,
despite the difference in the functional roles of the RMPs, say how the world presents
itself to the subject such that it could be rational to believe of a single object that it does
and does not have some feature. We can again put the point by saying that if the
proponent of the single property view is not guilty of a vehicle-content confusion, then
the view collapses into local eliminativism.
end p.221

The Four-Stage Argument for the Semantic Premise

What, then, is required to explain the a posteriori nature of the relevant identities? I shall
provide the answer in the form of a set of requirements that make up a four-stage
sequence, and I shall call the argument for the resulting final requirements the four-stage
argument. The first requirement stems from the two sources we have already identified:
the need the need to explain the possibility of a posteriori identities and the need to avoid
the charge of local eliminativism. We have then

Requirement 1: We must say how the world presents itself to the subject who believes
incompatible or contradictory things about the same object by providing a set of possible
worlds that are the way that subject takes the actual world to be.

But what would such a world look like in the case of someone who believed what would
be expressed by saying, “The morning star is inhabited and the evening star is not,” given
that there is no possible world at which the morning star and the evening star are distinct?
The answer, as we have seen, is given by a world at which the object that has the
individuating property associated with the first expression (“the morning star”) is not
identical with the object that has the individuating property associated with the second
(“the evening star”). This is because, as we have also seen, we need something beyond
functional states to play what we might call the rationalizing role. That is, we need
something more if the RMPs are to provide a complete account of the rationality of the
subject in question—the rationality of disbelief in the relevant mental-physical identities
presupposed by their a posteriori status. However, two causal chains to a single object
would not provide a possible world that is the way the subject takes the actual world to
be. Nor could we claim, as the single property theorist does, that it is the distinctness of
the expressions that explains the subject's rationality. For, as we have seen, if the
distinctness is to play the justificatory role for which it is slated, it must be distinctness of
content, not merely of orthography or of internal functional or inferential role. Thus we
have

Requirement 2: We must satisfy the first requirement by providing two distinct properties
of the object in question which correspond to the subject's RMPs and which are such that
there is a possible world at which they are instantiated by different objects.
This leaves the question open, however, as to what the properties are whose instantiation
by different objects at some possible worlds explains the rationality of the subject's
ascription of incompatible properties to the same thing. And the answer again is relatively
straightforward. As we saw in connection with the Smith example, the justification of the
subject's beliefs must be available to the subject at the personal level. Thus the properties
that provide the justification must be associated with the subject's RMPs in the right way.
Two properties of the two distinct causal chains connecting the two RMPs to the referent,
if they are properties of which the subject has no inkling, and indeed no notion, would not
be associated with the RMPs in the right way. Thus there must be either an a priori
association by virtue of the meanings of the RMPs or an association by virtue of the
subject's other

empirical beliefs. For example, if the subject believes that the last heavenly body visible
in the morning is the most massive body orbiting the sun, then there would be an
association of the right kind between one of the RMPs of Venus and the property of being
the most massive body in a solar orbit. However, since we are free to choose a subject
who has no such empirical beliefs, we have

Requirement 3: The properties (NMPs) that explain how a rational subject could fail to
believe or disbelieve an a posteriori identity must be connected to the subject's RMPs a
priori.

This, however, is still not sufficient. For it is plausible to suppose that there is an a priori
connection between the RMP “the diameter of the Earth” and the property of being the
diameter of the Earth. And it is also plausible to suppose that there is an a priori
connection between an expression of the form “n meters in diameter” (where n is
replaced by some particular number) and the property of being that number of meters in
diameter. (These are a priori in the sense that the association of the properties in question
with the RMPs depends on no empirical or a posteriori beliefs of the subject.) Suppose,
however, that the diameter of the Earth = n meters at the actual world. It seems that there
are two cases: (1) If the diameter of the Earth is identified with this dimension at the
actual world (and n meters is understood as n times the length of the actual meter stick),
then these two properties will be coinstantiated at every possible world. There will be no
possible world that justifies the belief that the subject would express by saying, “The
diameter of the Earth is not n meters.” Hence, as we have seen, there will be no way of
capturing the content of this belief, and we will be left with local eliminativism.
Suppose, though, that we impose the requirement that properties should be thin—that is,
there is nothing to such a property over and above what is understood by the subject who
understands the predicate that expresses it. Then we have case (2). The thin property of
being the diameter of the Earth varies from one possible world to another since one learns
what the actual diameter is a posteriori and not simply by virtue of understanding the
predicate “is the diameter of the Earth.” Similarly one can understand “is n meters in
diameter,” perhaps by understanding that a meter is the length of the standard meter stick
in Paris (for a nineteenth-century subject) without knowing what that length is. Hence the
thin properties associated with each of the RMPs will be distinct—there will be possible
worlds at which they have different extensions. And this is precisely what we need if we
are to find a possible world that justifies the belief of the subject who sincerely but falsely
denies that the diameter of the Earth is n meters.
Requirement 1, that there be a set of possible worlds that capture the belief of the subject
who denies a true a posteriori identity, thus imposes three further requirements. As we
have seen, we must identify properties of the object that could have failed to be
coinstantiated (Requirement 2). And as Requirement 3 dictates, these properties must be
associated a priori with the subject's RMPs. We now have

Requirement 4: The properties that satisfy Requirement (3) must be thin.

If this is the case, however, we have an argument for a weakened and slightly modified
version of Brian Loar's so-called Semantic Premise. According to Loar,
end p.223

antiphysicalists (such as Kripke and, evidently, proponents of the property dualism


argument) are committed to the following thesis.

Semantic Premise. A statement of property identity that links conceptually independent


concepts is true only if at least one concept picks out the property it refers to by
connoting a contingent property of that property. (Loar 1990/97: 600)
As I have argued elsewhere (White 2003), however, this formulation is unnecessarily
strong. The (allegedly contingent) property that does the work in explaining the
possibility of a posteriori identities needn't be a first-order property of the referent in
question. Such an explanation would work just as well if the property were second order
or higher. 8 We can, then, reformulate the principle as follows.

Weakened Semantic Premise. A statement of property identity that links conceptually


independent concepts is true only if at least one concept picks out the property it refers to
by connoting a contingent property of that property, a contingent property of a property
of that property, or … and so on.
But now notice that where Loar speaks of the contingency of the connection between at
least one of the two properties connoted by the expressions flanking the identity sign and
the referent of the expressions (or, in the weakened version, the referent, a property of the
referent, a property of a property of the referent, or … and so on). Requirements (1)–(4)
turn on the contingency of the coinstantiation of the properties (NMPs) connoted. In line
with the four-stage argument, then, we have a second reformulation of the principle:

Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise. A statement of identity that links conceptually


independent concepts is true only if the expressions flanking the identity sign pick out
their referents by connoting contingently coextensive properties of that referent, or
contingently coextensive properties of a property of that referent, or … (and so on). 9
What, then, are the two properties that could serve as the routes to the referent (the event
which is the pain, i.e., the CFF) for the person who doubts that any “mental” event
(property, etc.) is identical with anything physical and who is perfectly rational? The only
property by virtue of which “pain” could pick out the CFF for such a subject would be
something like the property of being painful or hurtful. Now consider any physical
property P. Certainly, it seems, we could imagine the following: our being in a state that
is hurtful without our being in a state that
end p.224

has P. But because the properties in question are thin and are connected a priori with the
relevant predicates, there is no room for an illusion of contingency that is not real
contingency. If so, the identity in question is false, and we have property dualism. (And if
some of these conditions are not satisfied, we have no explanation of the rationality of
skepticism about the relevant identities until we reach a level of higher order properties at
which they are satisfied.)

Metaphysical and Conceptual Possibilities

A common objection to the property dualism argument is that the a posteriori character of
mental-physical identities is a matter of conceptual possibilities or conceptually possible
worlds, but that such worlds or possibilities need not be metaphysical possibilities. Thus,
it is claimed, one cannot argue from the assumed a posteriori nature of the identity of,
say, the property of being hurtful and some physical property to the conclusion that there
is a real possible world at which they are distinct, and thus to the conclusion that they are
not identical at the actual world. Indeed, such a claim can be supported by the morning
star/evening star example itself. “The morning star = the evening star” is a posteriori, and
it is argued that there is, therefore, a logically or conceptually possible world at which
they are distinct. It is alleged, however, that there is no metaphysically possible world at
which this is the case. Thus it is suggested that the property dualism argument must
ultimately rest on a non sequitur.
As applied to the property dualism argument, this is misdirected. First, the property
dualism argument involves no distinction between conceptually possible and
metaphysically possible worlds of the sort alleged. If “pain” and the “CFF” refer rigidly,
then, as we have seen, there is no possible world describable in complete detail and
without contradiction at which pain is not identical with CFF. And it is precisely this fact
that motivates the property dualist's search for the properties (or properties of properties,
etc.) that are necessary for a complete and adequate explanation of the a posteriori
character of what is assumed to be the identity of pain and CFF. There is, then, in the
property dualism argument, nothing that would license a move from the a posteriori
character of “pain = CFF” to the claim that there is a possible world at which they are
distinct. Thus there is no illegitimate inference from something called conceptual
possibility to some distinct notion of real possibility. There is one notion of a possible
world used throughout—describability in complete detail without contradiction (keeping
the meanings of our terms and the actual-world referents of our rigid terms fixed). And
this notion is the one appropriate to the task of explaining the a posteriori character of the
alleged mental-physical identities.
To their credit, the most prominent critics of so-called conceivability arguments (among
which the property dualism argument is usually included) do not suppose that they
involve such a crude mistake. Katalin Balog (1999) and Joseph Levine (2001), for
example, distinguish “naive” conceivability arguments from arguments such as those of
David Chalmers (1996) and Frank Jackson (1982, 1993, 1998)
end p.225

(and, by extension, from the property dualism argument). 10 And both Balog and Levine
acknowledge that the proponents of the latter have no difficulty doing justice to a
posteriori necessities of the water/H 2 O and morning star/evening star varieties. It would
be a mistake, however, to assimilate the property dualism argument to conceivability
arguments of even the sophisticated sort. (Balog does, as Levine does not, draw a clear
distinction between them.) This is because the main arguments of Jackson and Chalmers
turn on issues of modality.
In particular, they turn on a conception according to which modal truths are reducible to,
or consist of, conceptual truths plus empirical facts about the referents of our referring
expressions at the actual world. Such arguments can be countered by accepting brute
modal truths that are not reducible in this way—for example, a brutely necessary
connection between a subject's being in a certain physical brain state and being in a
certain qualitative state. On such a view, then, there will be worlds that are possible in the
sense of being completely describable without contradiction (even keeping our language
and all the relevant actual-world references fixed) that are not possible metaphysically.
That is, there will be coherently describable worlds that are not possible in the light of all
the truths that are brutely necessary. Call the operative notion of necessity strong
metaphysical necessity. Since there will be no inference from possibilities in my sense to
strong metaphysical possibilities, does this mean that the property dualism argument begs
the question against such theorists?
The answer, of course, is that the property dualism argument turns on different
considerations altogether. We can see this most clearly if we simply concede (for the sake
of argument) all the brute necessities that the proponent of strong metaphysical necessity
desires and recognize that the property dualism argument still raises precisely the same
difficulty for the physicalist. The crucial move is, as we have seen, not from the a
posteriori nature of “pain = CFF” to the existence of possible worlds of any kind at which
they are distinct. Rather, the move is from its a posteriority to the need for possible
worlds that rationalize the subject who fails to believe or disbelieves the negation of the
statement. This is just to say that if the subject is merely uninformed or misinformed and
not irrational (and such a subject must be possible if the identity is a posteriori), it must
be possible to give a coherent characterization of the content of the subject's belief. But
this is not to say that there is a possible world in which the belief is true. If the subject
believes what would naturally be expressed in using the sentence “The morning star is
not identical with the evening star” or one of its analogues, there is, as we have seen, no
such world.
Where the morning star and the evening star are concerned, the answer is straightforward.
Pursuing this analogy in the case of pain and CFF, however, requires that we provide a
description for the CFF as it is presented to the subject who is rational but uninformed
with respect to the identity of pain and CFF. But the only description could be something
like “the state of mine that is hurtful.” And given that this must pick out the CFF by
virtue of a thin property associated
end p.226

a priori with the expression, we have the property dualist conclusion. (The alternative, as
we have seen, to supposing that the expression picks out the referent by virtue of a real
property of the object—one that is thin and is connected to it a priori—is eliminativism
regarding intentionality.)
Levine and Balog do, however, have a response that is relevant to the property dualism
argument. Both hold a theory of direct reference according to which there need be no
representational modes of presentation (RMPs) of the kind that the property dualism
argument assumes must exist, and hence no corresponding nonrepresentational modes
(NMPs). And certainly there is an important truth to what Levine calls nonascriptivism,
which is the claim that when one uses a term, one need not have in mind, either
“explicitly or implicitly, some description that would pick out its referent given a
context” (Levine 2001: 53). But to think that direct reference in this sense is a response to
the property dualism argument is to misconceive the issue, which is in essence Frege's
problem, and to ignore the fact that Frege's problem arises for demonstratives as well as
descriptions. As we have seen in Evans's ship example, such purely demonstrative
versions of Frege's problem impose the same requirement as the standard examples—that
we give an adequate account of the rationality, with respect to the relevant beliefs, of the
subject who is rational but uninformed. And both Levine and Balog give at best short
shrift to this requirement, which is the crux of the property dualism argument. Levine, for
example, writes:
When Kripke says that what's really possible is the situation that is described had it
turned out that “Water contains no hydrogen” were really true, he doesn't mean merely
that we find a possible world in which those very words express a truth no matter what
they mean. It's supposed to be that the situation thus picked out captures what we really
had in mind initially by uttering the statement. So the cognitive significance of the
statement must be preserved in the reinterpretation. … In fact, it's precisely the use made
of concepts and meaning by the advocates of the conceivability argument to which the
[proponent of the theory Levine holds] objects. According to [such a] theorist, there is
very little, if anything, like conceptual content, or cognitive significance, over and above
the actual symbols of the relevant representations and their referents. (2001: 53)
Doing justice to the cognitive significance of a subject's terms, however, is not an
optional feature of some solutions to the problem that motivates the property dualism
argument. It is the problem which is defined by the requirement that we make sense of
the rationality of the rational but uninformed subject. And what Balog and Levine offer—
causal chains unavailable to the subject—are clearly inadequate. As we have seen in the
Smith example, what rationalizes a subject with respect to particular beliefs is what is
available to that subject, not a causal chain which is outside the subject's ken. Levine
seems to suppose that modes of presentation (RMPs) could be unavailable to the subject
because he takes “meaning” to be the object of study of an empirical science—a science,
presumably, of how words function in a certain community and physical environment.
But this simply points up the fact that the issue is not one of meaning in this sense, but of
cognitive significance—and cognitive significance for the individual whose rationality is
in question. The crux of the problem is, after all, the task of explaining the rationality of
the subject who is merely
end p.227

uninformed or misinformed regarding pain and CFF. And this is because the task is one
of explaining the a posteriori character of the identity, which is simply the possibility of
doubting it while being perfectly rational.
To see that the issue is one of cognitive significance in Levine's sense, imagine someone
who is misinformed about the language of geometry and who believes that “right
triangle” and “triangle” are synonyms. If such a subject believes what he or she would
express by uttering the negation of the Pythagorean theorem, there is no irrationality of
the kind involved in a straightforward belief in the negation of the theorem itself. What
matters as regards rationality or irrationality are the modes of presentation available to
the subject, not facts such as those about communal usage or causal chains to which he or
she has no access.
Levine might respond that there is always a difference in the modes of presentation that
are available to the subject in the relevant cases—namely the two distinct expressions
(e.g., “the morning star” and “the evening star” or “pain” and “CFF”). But, as we have
seen above, this proves too much. It would rationalize a completely irrational pair of
beliefs—for example, beliefs that Ned Block was and was not an undergraduate physics
major—simply because one was expressed using “Ned” and the other using “Block.”
And this would be true even if, for the believer, the difference were merely stylistic. The
objection that conceivability arguments trade on a confusion between conceptual and real
possibility, then, is no threat. Either it is irrelevant to the property dualism argument, or it
collapses into a direct reference claim of the kind that, in the discussion of phenomenal
concepts, we have already seen reason to reject.
It is clear that in this account of the property dualism argument and of cognitive
significance, the notion of thin properties does a great deal of work. Moreover, I have
spoken continually of what is necessary to rationalize particular uninformed subjects in
such a way that their claims to having content-laden intentional states (the uninformed
beliefs) are not undermined. But I have not given a general account of what the contents
of these states are. As we have seen, this is a question of what we mean when we say
“what the world would be like if it were the way the subject takes it to be.” The account
of the meaning of this locution and of the required notion of thinness lies in the two-
dimensional semantic framework that I set out originally in “Partial Character and the
Language of Thought” (1982), the necessity of which is made particularly pressing by
recent objections to the property dualism argument involving special modal properties. 11
Thus it is to these objections that I now turn.
The Adam and Eve Objection
Consider the following objection to the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise. The
principle is intended to capture a necessary condition for there being a true a
end p.228
posteriori identity. But it could be argued that it does not. Suppose Abel is the person
who originates from the union of sperm cell Adam and egg cell Eve. According to those
who believe in the necessity of origins where persons are concerned, Abel could not have
originated from a different sperm and egg. Thus the property of being the person who
originated from sperm cell Adam is a necessary property of Abel's—that is, one that he
has at every possible world at which he exists. The same is true for the property of being
the person who originated from egg cell Eve. But the identity statement

1.The person who originated from sperm cell Adam = the person who originated from
egg cell Eve

is clearly a posteriori. We come to believe a statement such as this on the basis of


empirical investigation, and there is no difficulty in imagining a rational subject who
doubts it. We have, then, apparently, a true a posteriori identity linking concepts that
connote noncontingent properties of their common referent. Hence we seem to have a
straightforward counterexample to the Semantic Premise and (as I shall assume below for
the sake of argument) the Weakened Semantic Premise. The example is not, however, a
counterexample to the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise because there are worlds
at which the property of being the person originating from sperm cell Adam and the
property of being the person originating from Eve are not coinstantiated—for example,
worlds at which sperm cell Adam is united with an egg cell other than Eve and Eve with
a sperm cell other than Adam. But now consider

2.The person who originated from sperm cell Adam at the actual world = the person who
originated from egg cell Eve at the actual world. 12

This is still a posteriori, and the properties connoted by the referring expressions are
evidently coinstantiated at every possible world. Thus it seems that we have a
counterexample to the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise as well. And it would not
be useful to object that the necessity of origins thesis for persons is controversial and is
one that we might be tempted to deny. For whatever the truth is with regard to our own
community, we can certainly imagine one in which persons are genuinely counted as the
same if and only if they have the same origins in the appropriate sense.
Notice first, however, that there are two gaps in the argument against the Weakened,
Modified Semantic Premise. First, there is no argument that the property of being the
person who originated from sperm cell Adam is the property connoted by “the person
who originated from sperm cell Adam” (and similarly for the other designating
expression flanking the identity sign). Second, recall that what is being defended is the
Weakened Modified Semantic Premise. It is not required, then, that the connoted
contingent properties be properties of the referent. They might, for example, be
contingently coinstantiated second-order properties (properties of
end p.229

properties of the referent), contingently coinstantiated third order properties, and so forth.
Nowhere does the proponent of the objection provide an argument that all the relevant
properties have been considered. I shall refer to this latter point from time to time by
saying that there must (according to the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise) be
contingently coinstantiated properties appropriately related to (connoted by) the RMPs
“somewhere in the hierarchy.” In this case, however, the relevant contingent properties
will turn out to be properties of the referent, Abel. Hence I shall focus almost exclusively
in what follows on the first gap in the argument.
It might seem open to serious question, however, how the first alleged gap in the
argument against the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise could be exploited by a
defender of the premise. How, after all, could it fail to be the case that the property
connoted by “the person who originated from sperm cell Adam” is the property of being
the person who originated from sperm cell Adam? Strong as the intuition supporting it
may seem, however, the assumption that this is the case is extremely problematic. There
is, first of all, no point in consulting our intuitions about the meaning of “connotation.”
The meaning of this word is fixed by its contrast with “denotation,” but this is just to say
that the connotation of a referring expression is its meaning as opposed to its referent.
And to say this is simply to make explicit the extent to which the meaning of
“connotation” is controversial and contested.
We can sidestep any controversy, however, about the sense of “meaning” appropriate to
“connotes” by asking what the word must mean if it is to serve Loar's purpose. We are to
look, that is, at what “connotes” must mean if it is to be plausible that the Weakened,
Modified Semantic Premise provides the most charitable expression of the intuition that
underpins the antiphysicalist's arguments. And doing so, I shall argue, provides an
obvious and intuitive answer to the question of what connotation involves in this context.
We can see what “connotation” must amount to if we consider that the Weakened,
Modified Semantic Premise makes the truth of an a posteriori identity statement (one
linking two conceptually independent concepts) a sufficient condition of the properties
connoted by those concepts being only contingently coinstantiated. And this means that
the properties connoted by the (concepts embedded in the) referring expressions must
explain—indeed must constitute—their cognitive significance. For recall that a
proposition is a posteriori just in case it is a possible object of belief of a perfectly
rational subject and, equally, is something that a perfectly rational subject could
disbelieve or doubt. And we can say that it is a sufficient condition for two coreferential
referring expressions differing in their cognitive significance that a perfectly rational
subject could disbelieve or doubt an identity statement linking them. And for the sake of
simplicity I shall stipulate that the sufficient condition for their differing in cognitive
significance is necessary as well. Thus according to this stipulation, people who doubt
identity statements that are true a priori such as logical or mathematical truths—and who
are, in a perfectly intuitive sense, irrational—are doubting statements linking referring
expressions that do not differ in their cognitive significance. We can say, then, that a true
identity statement is a posteriori if and only if it links referring expressions that differ in
their cognitive significance. It follows that in order to make the best case
end p.230

for the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise—which says (roughly) that if a true
identity is a posteriori, there must be a possible world at which the connoted properties
are not coinstantiated—we must say that if the expressions flanking the identity sign
differ in their cognitive significance, there must be a world at which the connoted
properties are properties of different things. In other words, the properties must be at least
thin enough to explain all the differences in the cognitive significance of the expressions
that connote them. Of course, the properties connoted might be thinner than this. We
might suppose, for example, that the property of having three sides and the property of
having three angles are distinct, even though “has three sides” and “has three angles” do
not differ in their cognitive significance (by the criterion stipulated above). However,
nothing requires us to postulate properties that are thinner than is necessary to explain
differences in cognitive significance, and doing so would prevent our identifying
properties with functions from possible worlds to extensions at those worlds. Thus we
can assume that the referring expressions differ in their cognitive significance if and only
if the properties they connote are distinct.
A consequence of this is that what a definite description connotes cannot be assumed to
be its meaning if meaning is assumed to be broad content. For it is arguable that in the
case of the identity statement “the largest body of water on Earth = the largest body of H
2 O on Earth,” the definite descriptions, in addition to being coreferential, have exactly
the same broad content. Indeed, from the perspective of broad content, the suggestion that
the meanings of the referring expressions are constituted (in part) by the meanings of
their embedded predicates, that the meanings of those predicates are a matter of the
properties they express, and that they express the same properties, is difficult to avoid.
If connotation is not a matter of broad content, though, what account can we give of it?
Must we give a complete account of so-called narrow content in order to provide an
adequate interpretation of “connotes” in the context of the Weakened, Modified Semantic
Premise? 13 The answer is no. Such an account of narrow content would have to provide
an account of such topics, among others, as the contents of nonreferring expressions; the
contents of beliefs of hallucinating subjects; the contents of intentional states of those
who, like brains in vats, are even more radically cut off from their surroundings; and so
forth. For our present purposes, however, something much more modest will do. We
simply need an account of the relation between representational modes of presentation, in
particular (those associated with) referring expressions, and nonrepresentational modes of
presentation (properties) in cases in which the referring expressions succeed in picking
out a referent. And we need an account according to which the NMPs explain and
constitute the relations of cognitive significance among the RMPs in accordance with the
four-stage argument. 14
end p.231

As we have seen, such an account has two components. There must be an a priori
connection between the RMP and the corresponding NMP, and the NMP must be a thin
property. Let us consider these requirements in turn. The first is relatively unproblematic.
It is clear, as we have seen, that if the NMP is to provide the content of the corresponding
RMP, the connection between the two must be a priori. But again, as we have seen, this is
only half the requirement. Take the example of water. According to a well-known theory,
what “water” refers to is H 2 O. Assume that this theory is correct. That the word “water”
refers to H 2 O and that water is H 2 O are empirical facts, known a posteriori. Hence
there is no a priori connection between the predicate “is water” and the property of being
H 2 O. The property of being H 2 O, then, is not the nonrepresentational mode of
presentation that provides the route from “water” to its referent that explains the
difference (for a normal subject) in the cognitive significance of the representational
modes of presentation associated with “water” and “H 2 O.”

The Definition of Thinness

Consider, though, the property of being the natural kind that falls as rain, fills the lakes
and oceans, and flows from faucets here (or at the actual world). It seems clear that the
connection between this property and “water” is a priori for normal subjects. The
connection is, after all, established on the basis of a philosophical theory, not empirical
research. But it seems equally clear that the property of being the natural kind that falls as
rain, fills the lakes and oceans, and flows from faucets (at the actual world) has an
empirical and an a posteriori aspect. 15 We can know in advance of any empirical
research (i.e., know a priori) that water has this property, but we cannot know (in
advance of this research) what nature water has by virtue of being the natural kind that
has this property. In other words, this property confers on the quantities of matter that
instantiate it an empirically discoverable essence. Thus in terms of our earlier
terminology this is a thick property.
We can put this point another way and say that the property is expressed by a predicate,
“is the natural kind that falls as rain, fills the lakes and oceans, and flows from faucets
(here),” whose associated intension (function from possible worlds to extensions) is not
invariant with respect to contexts of acquisition and/or contexts of utterance. Acquired
and uttered in this world, for example, this predicate
end p.232

determines a function from possible worlds to extensions such that at each world a
substance is part of the extension if and only if it is H 2 O.
Consider, though, that the same predicate (in the sense of the same linguistic expression
type with the same inferential role and evidential role) was acquired and used by our
functional duplicates on Twin Earth. (In this paper I shall always understand Twin Earth
as an alternative possible world rather than a visitable part of this world.) In such a case,
the predicate would express the intension that took possible worlds into the bodies of
XYZ at those worlds. Hence the predicate is noninvariant in the sense described, and the
property expressed is thick.

We have, then, three distinct conceptions of thinness where properties are concerned.

1.A property is thin 1 if and only if it confers no empirically discoverable essence on the
things in which it is instantiated.
2.A property is thin 2 if and only if the predicate that expresses it has an intension that is
invariant with respect to contexts of acquisition and/or utterance.
1.A property is thin 1 if and only if it confers no empirically discoverable essence on the
things in which it is instantiated.
3.A property is thin 3 if and only if the predicate that expresses it is fully
intensionalized—that is, we do not have to determine the reference of the expression at
the actual world in order to determine its extension at a possible world.

(Given that the equivalence of the three definitions is perhaps not completely obvious, I
shall provide the relevant arguments in the appendix.)
Let me now restate the thesis I have been defending: The Weakened, Modified Semantic
Premise is correct given the two conditions already stated—that the connection between
the referring expressions and the properties by virtue of which they pick out their referent
must be a priori and that the properties must be thin—which we are regarding as implicit
in a correct understanding of the notion of “connotation.” But why should this be the
case? Won't the suspicion arise that these conditions are merely ad hoc and that even if
they work in a number of cases, it is only a matter of time before we begin turning up
counterexamples?
First, we should notice that the two conditions are tightly connected. Whereas the first
says that the connection between the referring expressions and the properties by virtue of
which they pick out their referent—or the connection between the RMPs and their
corresponding NMPs—must be a priori, the second says that there must be no a posteriori
component or aspect of the property. In other words, the connection must be a priori and
only a priori. Second, the connection between the RMPs and the corresponding NMPs
must be a priori and only a priori because together the RMPs and the NMPs have to
explain how someone with no relevant empirical knowledge—someone whom we can
imagine doubting any empirical proposition relevant to the referent—can succeed in
picking it out. The connection between the NMPs and the corresponding RMPs must also
be a priori and only a priori because the NMPs give content to the corresponding RMPs
as demonstrated in the four-stage argument. And, as that analysis entails, they must give
the kind of content that explains and constitutes the cognitive significance of the subject's
representational expressions and states.
Why, though, is cognitive significance the bottom line? That it is so is built into the
fundamental nature of the problem that generates the property dualism
end p.233

controversy. The problem is to explain the possibility of rational error in the case of an
identity that (it is assumed) is a necessary truth. Alternatively, the problem is to explain
the a posteriority of the identity. But two modes of presentation differ in their cognitive
significance if and only if one can be rationally justified in believing something of a
referent under one and failing to believe it, or disbelieving it, of the same referent under
the other. In other words, the problem that generates the controversy just is the problem
of explaining a difference in the cognitive significance of two modes of presentation. 16
The proposal, then, is that the two conditions be treated as part of the meaning of
“connotes” as it is used in the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise. This is perfectly
appropriate because “connotes” is a technical term related to “sense” (in Frege's sense),
and cognitive significance is (arguably) the most important aspect of that concept. And,
as the foregoing suggests, this is the meaning of “connotation” that Loar needs if the
Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise is to serve his purpose. Moreover, the thick/thin
distinction is a stand-in for a full-blown theory of narrow content, where narrow content
is the content that constitutes and explains cognitive significance and resolves the Frege
puzzles. Hence it is not unmotivated to understand connotation as narrow content and to
say that the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise is correct where connotation is
understood in terms of narrow rather than broad content. (This is, of course, subject to the
qualification presented above that no full-blown theory of narrow content will be
presented and that none is necessary in this context.) In any case, nothing turns on the
identification of connotation and narrow content. We could easily restate the Weakened,
Modified Semantic Premise explicitly in terms of the thick/thin distinction and avoid the
use of “connotation” altogether.

Explaining the Illusion of Contingency

Even if it is clear that the “two conditions” are well motivated, we can still ask how the
thick/thin distinction resolves the problem that (1) genuine identities are necessary, (2)
the identities in question are a posteriori, and (3) there must be possible worlds that
rationalize the belief of the subject who doubts 17 the identity, and (4) there must be
NMPs that give the RMPs their contents. We can sharpen this question if we imagine a
skeptical and unsympathetic objection. “You are committed,” the objector might say, “on
the one hand to the idea that genuine identities are necessary—hence to the idea that there
is no possible world, for example, at which pain is not the same thing as C-fiber firing
(CFF). On the other hand,” the objector might continue, “You are committed to there
being some connection between things on the side of rationally justified belief and RMPs
and things on the side of properties,
end p.234

possible worlds, and NMPs, since you believe that the latter are necessary to give the
former their content. In particular, you are committed to there being a set of possible
worlds that rationalize the belief of the person who doubts or disbelieves the identity of
pain and CFF. Of course, the broad/narrow or thick/thin distinctions show that these
commitments are not immediately inconsistent. But you have not yet answered the
question of what the possible worlds are that rationalize the subject's beliefs in the case
of these sorts of identities.” And we can make this objection clearer if we consider a
possible reply that we might make following Kripke and the objections to such a reply.
The objector challenges us to satisfy the following desiderata. The first is to say which
propositions they are whose real contingency explains the apparent contingency of the
necessary a posteriori identities in question. The second is to say how they are related to
the necessary a posteriori identities such that a fully rational subject could be justified in
doubting the latter. The first desideratum amounts to the one spelled out in the four-stage
argument that there be possible worlds that capture the way the subject takes the actual
world to be. And the second adds to that the requirement that there be a general
characterization of the way that such worlds are related to those that constitute the truth
conditions of the identities in question. Moreover, in line with the four-stage argument,
these worlds that establish the genuine contingency of the proposition that justifies the
subject's doubting the a posteriori identity must, in some appropriate sense, provide the
content of that identity.
Consider the two replies that, on the basis of Kripke's discussion, we could make to such
a challenge. First, there is the suggestion that what justifies the subject's disbelief in
necessary identities of this kind is the existence of a world that is, in a qualitative sense,
epistemically the same as the actual world and with respect to which a “qualitatively
analogous statement” is false. For example, according to Kripke, “Heat = molecular
motion” is (if, as we may assume, true) necessarily true. But its a posteriori character,
apparent contingency, or the illusion of its contingency is explained by the existence of a
possible world at which the sensation of heat is produced by something other than
molecular motion. And Kripke evidently means that with regard to such a situation, the
statement “The phenomenon that produces the sensation of heat is not molecular motion”
is true (where by “the sensation of heat” is meant the sensation produced by heat at the
actual world), even though “Heat is molecular motion” is also true at this possible world,
as at every other (1972: 140–54).
Viewed as a necessary and sufficient condition (or even a necessary or sufficient
condition) of our having an explanation of the illusion of contingency of the identity in
question (or our having a rational justification of the subject who fails to believe the
identity), however—and it is unclear how Kripke intended it—this suggestion is open to a
number of objections. First, there seems to be no account of qualitative similarity that
doesn't raise serious difficulties. If, for example, it means equivalence as regards sense
data, then it relies on an analysis of perception and experience that is open to apparently
conclusive objections. (I shall consider this interpretation shortly.) This is also a problem
with taking the account as providing a necessary condition for our having an explanation
of the apparent contingency of the identity in question or a justification of the subject
who disbelieves it.
end p.235

Second, there is the Boyd objection considered above (Boyd 1980: 83–85). If the account
is taken as a sufficient condition of our having the explanation and justification in
question, then, as Boyd points out, it won't serve Kripke's purpose where pain and C-fiber
firing are concerned. Kripke's argument is that in the case of the alleged identity of pain
and C-fiber firing, the apparent possibility of our having pain without CFF and vice versa
cannot be explained by citing the real possibility of our having the sensation of pain
without CFF (by analogy with heat). This is because, as Kripke points out, the sensation
of pain is pain. In other words, according to Kripke, a possible world at which we have
the sensation of pain without CFF is one at which we have pain without CFF. Hence,
according to Kripke, the attempt to explain away the apparent contingency of
“pain = CFF” entails its real contingency, hence its falsity. Thus the explanation fails.
According to Boyd, however, even if we assume that “pain = CFF” is true, there are
(pace Kripke) possible worlds at which qualitative analogues of the identity are false. For
there are worlds at which we have pain (and hence, by hypothesis, CFF) without any of
the sensations normally associated with CFF given as such—that is, as a brain state.
There are, for example, obviously possible worlds at which all of our instruments give us
the sensory experience associated with the absence of any CFF—they may simply not be
working. (Conversely, we could have the qualitative experiences associated with CFF
(given as such) without the sensation of pain, because we could have the former without
CFF (i.e., pain). Thus, according to Boyd, Kripke's argument for dualism can be blocked.
There is a third objection to this explanation of apparent contingency. As we saw above,
the set of possible worlds that rationally justify the subject who disbelieves a necessary
(but a posteriori) identity do so because they are the way the subject takes the actual
world to be. They capture the content of the subject's belief (in the sense of the way the
world presents itself to the subject), though not the truth conditions of the belief (since if
pain is CFF, there is no world at which they are distinct). If this is the case, however, then
pointing to a world that is qualitatively like the actual world (but at which a qualitative
analogue of the identity in question is false) is not an appropriate way of rationalizing the
subject and explaining the illusion of contingency. For it implies that the content of the
subject's belief can be captured in sensational or sense-datum terms, and this seems
clearly false. If one believes that water is not H 2 O and that there can be one without the
other, this seems radically different from the belief that one could have the sensations
commonly associated with one without those generally associated with the other.
Kripke never commits himself to an interpretation of “epistemic identity in the qualitative
sense” in terms of sensations or sense data. What if we consider more liberal
interpretations? Suppose, for example, that we construe epistemic equivalence in the
qualitative sense as either observational equivalence in one of the many senses of
“observational” or, even more vaguely, “evidential” equivalence. Would this help to
address the three objections that we have just seen to what I shall call the qualitative
equivalence criterion? Certainly it would address the first, that talk of sense data is
objectionable per se. It seems less useful, however, in addressing the Boyd objection and
the objection that a qualitatively specified condition cannot provide the content of the
belief of the subject who doubts the pain-CFF identity. To the extent that it does address
these objections, it seems to presuppose an
end p.236

instrumentalistic and phenomenalistic view of science and of content that few are likely
to find attractive. These objections cannot be made conclusively against the more liberal
interpretation of qualitative equivalence, however, because of the vagueness of
qualitative equivalence and because we cannot pursue here such topics as
phenomenalism, instrumentalism, and realism in the philosophy of science. Thus I shall
sketch an independent problem.
Let us recall that the point of the reference to worlds qualitatively equivalent to the actual
one is to explain the apparent contingency of necessary identities, and, more generally, to
rationalize (i.e., rationally justify) the subject who doubts such an identity. Even more
generally, it is part of the project of providing a rational justification of (intuitively)
rational error wherever it occurs. Now consider a (badly misinformed) subject who
believes that water is not H 2 O. Following Kripke we say that his or her belief is
rationalized by a possible world at which, say, the most plentiful colorless, odorless, life-
sustaining liquid is not H 2 O. But now consider “colorless,” “odorless,” and “life-
sustaining.” Suppose that these, like “water,” are themselves natural kind terms. Then
they themselves are capable of generating exactly the same kind of apparent irrationality.
18
That is, they are capable of generating the ostensible irrationality associated with
Fregean problems in which a subject doubts what he or she would express by uttering a
statement that is true with regard to every possible world. If, for example, there is a
discoverable empirical essence to being colorless, or odorless, or life-sustaining, then a
rational subject could believe that a liquid was colorless but that it lacked the physical
property with which the property of colorlessness was identical. In this case the subject
would doubt a necessary truth, and we would, as yet, have no rational justification of his
or her beliefs. And if we try to rule out this possibility by appealing to properties like
looking colorless, we are back to the original phenomenalistic or sense-datum
interpretation of qualitative equivalence. (And again recall that even if we don't treat so-
called qualitative terms as natural kind terms, we can easily imagine rational subjects
who do.)
I now turn, then, to the second way in which we might, following Kripke, say which
propositions they are whose real contingency explains the apparent contingency of the
necessary a posteriori identities in question. And this, of course, is to say how they are
related to the latter such that a fully rational subject could be justified in doubting them.
Kripke says:
In the case of identities between two rigid designators, the strategy [involving the appeal
to the sameness of the subject's epistemic position, qualitatively speaking] can be
approximated by a simpler one: Consider how the references of the designators are
determined: if these coincide only contingently, it is this fact which gives the original
statement its illusion of contingency. (1972: 150)
Unfortunately, this does not necessarily address the problems with the qualitative
equivalence criterion (for example, that the representational modes of presentation that
determine the references of the designators may themselves raise Fregean

problems). We can appreciate the complexity of this issue if we consider Block's example
mentioned above. In the case of “The person originating from sperm cell Adam = the
person originating from egg cell Eve” we have a statement that is, by hypothesis,
necessary and a posteriori. And in this case, what we might call Kripke's contingent
coincidence criterion—that if the references of the designators coincide only
contingently, this gives the original statement its illusion of contingency—works to
explain this fact and to rationalize the subject who disbelieves it. There are, after all,
possible worlds at which “the person who originated from sperm cell Adam” and “the
person who originated from egg cell Eve” are not coreferential. But now consider “The
person who originated from sperm cell Adam at the actual world = the person who
originated from egg cell Eve at the actual world.” This identity is a posteriori for the
same reasons as the original one. But does it satisfy the contingent coincidence criterion?
In fact, this version of the Adam and Eve example might seem designed to illustrate what
is right with the criterion. Adding “at the actual world” to each of the two descriptions
adds nothing to their descriptive content, since we neither identify the actual world nor
pick it out from any alternatives. And to determine whether a proposition is true at the
actual world or what the referent is, at the actual world, of a referring expression, we
simply determine whether the proposition is true and what the referent is. The phrase “at
the actual world,” then, is best thought of, in this context, as a rigidification device. It
turns a nonrigid description (or one that is not explicitly rigid) into a rigid one (anchored
to the actual world) without changing its descriptive content. (We can imagine, for
example, simply adding a subscript to the original description to indicate that it is to be
treated as rigid. And given that it is anchored to the actual world, it seems that nothing
else is required, since no descriptive content is necessary to pick out the actual world—
we need neither an identifying description nor any sort of demonstrative mode of
presentation of it.) But it follows that in this case, Kripke's contingent coincidence
criterion is particularly easy to apply. We simply strip the rigid description of the
rigidification device (imagine dropping the expression “at the actual world” or dropping
the subscript) and take the nonrigid descriptions as specifying “how the references of the
designators are determined.” Since, as we have seen, these do coincide only contingently,
Kripke has no difficulty explaining the a posteriori character of the identity.
Though Block's particular examples pose no problem for Kripke's second criterion, there
are very few cases in which the answer to the question of how the reference of the
designators is determined is so straightforward. In fact, the second criterion is no real
improvement over the first. In the general case, there may be no natural distinction
between purely descriptive content and devices of rigidification. For there may be no
identifiable language in which a purely descriptive content would find its natural
expression. As we have seen, a sense-datum vocabulary generates apparently insuperable
problems, and observational propositions, or evidential propositions couched in any other
terms, are neither guaranteed to be purely descriptive nor to involve references that are
exclusively nonrigid. It seems, then, that Kripke provides no general formula for
determining which possible worlds explain the illusion of contingency of the a posteriori
identities or rationally justify the beliefs of those who doubt them.
end p.238

The Dilemma for Kripke

We can, then, think of Kripke as facing a dilemma: On the one hand, Kripke can embrace
a highly reductive account of the source of the illusion of contingency. That is, he can
explain the illusion that water could fail to be H 2 O, say, by pointing to possible worlds
at which something that produces the same sensory experiences or sense data that water
does (at the actual world) is not H 2 O—that is, worlds at which the substance that looks
colorless, has no odor, and so on is not water. This, as we have seen, is open to two
objections:

1.This doesn't seem to capture what a subject means (or has to mean) in claiming that
water is not H 2 O. Such a subject might explicitly claim that he or she does not merely
mean that something that produces the same sense data as water is not H 2 O, but that
water is not H 2 O.
2.Moreover, this is open to the Boyd objection that if this is an adequate account in the
case of water and H 2 O, it can be applied to the case of pain and C-fiber firing to show
1.This doesn't seem to capture what a subject means (or has to mean) in claiming that
water is not H 2 O. Such a subject might explicitly claim that he or she does not merely
mean that something that produces the same sense data as water is not H 2 O, but that
water is not H 2 O.
how the illusion of contingency may be explained without denying the identity of pain
and CFF. We can explain the illusion in a way exactly analogous to the heat case by
pointing to the existence of worlds at which the sense data associated with CFF given
as such (i.e., as a brain state) are produced by something other than pain (and hence
other than CFF) and worlds at which CFF does not produce the sense data associated
with CFF (given as such) at the actual world.

If, on the other hand, Kripke refuses to adopt a radically reductionistic account of the
illusion of contingency, then it seems he will face an infinite regress of descriptions. If he
refuses to embrace the phenomenalist strategy, then it seems he will have to explain the
illusion of contingency by appeal to descriptions by virtue of which the designators in
question pick out their objects. Suppose, however, that these descriptions themselves
involve natural kind terms that generate further illusions of contingency—e.g., terms like
“is a liquid,” understood as a natural kind term, as explained above. (And recall that even
if in fact these terms are not used as natural kind terms, we can easily imagine
communities in which they are.) Suppose, then, that being a liquid is itself identical to a
physical property and that this identity is a posteriori. Then explaining the difference in
the cognitive significance of “water” and “H 2 O” for a normal subject in terms of the
difference in the associated descriptions for that subject will lead to another set of beliefs
whose obvious rationality has no explanation on Kripke's account. And it seems clear that
we cannot have an infinite backward regress of such descriptive accounts. If so, then
Kripke's theory will provide no general account of the rationality of error in the case of a
posteriori identities.

Gap-Inducing Linguistic Devices

What is required to resolve this dilemma for Kripke is a more explicit characterization of
the general account of rational error that we have already seen in outline—that is, the
Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise, together with the two implicit conditions: that
the relation between the RMPs and their corresponding
end p.239

NMPs must be a priori and that the properties that play the role of NMPs must be thin.
The problem with what we have seen so far concerns the notion of thinness. Thin
properties were originally characterized as those that conferred no hidden (or empirically
discoverable) essence on the things that instantiate them. And although the application of
this notion in the context of natural kind terms seems straightforward, its application in
the context of the Adam and Eve example does not. To be sure, Kripke's account of the
necessity of origin where persons are concerned has certain obvious analogies with the
widely accepted understanding of natural kinds. But rather than explore these analogies
to expand the application of the concept of the lack of a hidden (or empirically
discoverable) essence, it seems preferable that we should try to deploy a broader and
more abstract conception of thinness.
It is the need for a more abstract notion of thinness that motivates the two alternatives to
the characterization in terms of the absence of a discoverable essence. According to the
first alternative, thin properties are those expressed by predicates whose intensions are
invariant across contexts of acquisition and utterance. According to the second, thin
properties are those expressed by predicates that are fully intensionalized in the following
sense: given a complete description of a possible world, we can tell what the extension of
the predicate is at that world without first having to answer empirical questions about the
actual world. And as we have seen, properly understood, these three characterizations of
thinness are equivalent.
We can, in fact, take this line of thought further. We can appeal to the notion of a
predicate that is not fully intensionalized in order to define what we might call gap-
inducing linguistic devices. Such devices take fully intensionalized predicates into
predicates that are not fully intensionalized. Consider the phrase “at the actual world.”
Assume (as is the case by almost anyone's lights) that “is square” is fully intensionalized.
(Given a possible world PW, we can settle the question of which things are square at that
world by reference to the facts at that world alone and without knowing anything about
the actual world.) Contrast this with the predicate “is square at the actual world.” To
know which things instantiate the property that this predicate expresses with regard to
PW, we have to know what shape they have at the actual world. 19 “At the actual world,”
then, is a gap-inducing linguistic device.
Similarly, it would be widely accepted that proper names are such devices. Suppose we
want to know with respect to a certain possible world PW′ whether the following scenario
obtains: that, in addition to being called “Mark Antony,” Julius Caesar did all the things
associated with Mark Antony at the actual world and none of the things associated at the
actual world with Caesar (i.e., Caesar played the Mark Antony role at PW′), and that
Mark Antony played the Caesar role. To answer this question, we need to know who
Caesar and Mark Antony are at PW′. And to do this,
end p.240

we have to determine whom “Caesar” refers to, and whom “Mark Antony” refers to, at
the actual world (arguably by tracing the relevant causal chains at the actual world to
their sources) and then determine what those persons did at PW′. In other words, we
cannot settle the issue of who Caesar and Mark Antony are at PW′ on the basis of what
we have access to as users of the terms “Caesar” and “Mark Antony” and a qualitative
description of PW′. Other plausible examples of gap-inducing devices include
demonstratives and indexicals.
Something analogous might be said about natural kind terms. A plausible characterization
of the content of a particular natural kind term would be something of the form
The natural kind that realizes D at the actual world
where D stands in for a description couched in terms of predicates that express the
macro-level properties to which we as a community or we as individuals have access.
(Thus we might think of natural kind terms as containing implicitly the gap-inducing
device “at the actual world.”) 20
If this account is plausible, it suggests a general strategy for explaining rational error, a
strategy that has a clear application in the Adam and Eve case. We can, as we have seen,
“strip off” such apparently pure rigidification devices as “at the actual world” (devices
that do not themselves contribute descriptive content to the predicate in question) while
“filling in” the gaps induced by such devices as proper names and natural kind terms with
descriptive content available to the subject. But, as has been implicit in what has already
been said, these two strategies, even in combination, are not sufficient. Neither alone nor
in combination do they deal with the problem we saw in connection with Kripke—that
we cannot rule out an infinite regress of natural kind terms. We cannot rule out, for
example, the possibility that every descriptive content to which we appeal to fill in a gap
induced by a term like “water” (terms such as “colorless” and “wet”) will themselves be
natural kind terms. And if so, there will be no descriptive, fully intensionalized
vocabulary available to the subject by appeal to which all such terms could be eliminated.
There is another strategy, however, by which we can abstract from any empirically
discoverable essence implicit in the predicates to which our empirical situation limits us.
Consider the common characterization (to which I have already alluded) of the content of
a predicate (and hence of the property expressed) in terms of an intension—that is, a
function from possible worlds to the extensions of that predicate at those worlds. The
intuition behind the equation of such a function, the content of a predicate, and the
property expressed by that predicate 21 is the same as the intuition that equates a
proposition with a set of possible worlds. In the propositional case, the content of the
proposition is whatever condition holds for all the worlds in the set. By analogy, the
property expressed by the predicate is what
end p.241

the elements of all the extensions at all the possible worlds have in common. The fact that
we look at the extensions of the predicates at all logically possible worlds eliminates the
sort of problem raised by such predicates as “creature with a heart” and “creature with a
liver.” Because these allegedly have the same extension at the actual world and yet
(intuitively) differ in their contents and in the property expressed, we cannot identify their
contents with their actual extensions. This problem is solved, however, by abstracting
from the contingencies at the actual world. It is precisely because we can imagine a world
at which creatures who in their natural, normal, and healthy state have a heart and no
liver (and vice versa) that the two predicates differ in their cognitive significance and thus
in their content. Thus the criterion of the identity of a property that makes it what is
common to all the members of the extensions across all possible worlds is an attractive
one.

The General Account of Apparent Contingency


The identification of the property connoted by a subject's linguistic expression with a set
of extensions across all possible worlds does not itself provide the needed account of
apparent contingency, of course. Rather, it provides the model for that account insofar as
it involves the use of possible worlds to abstract from actual world contingencies. The
difficulty, as we have seen, is that such expressions as “at the actual world,” in contexts
such as “is the natural kind that realizes the ‘water role’ at the actual world,” inject
actual-world contingencies not only into the actual extensions of predicates but into their
extensions across possible worlds. Whereas “the natural kind that realizes the water
role,” understood nonrigidly, or in a fully conceptualized way, has an extension that
varies across possible worlds (it is H 2 O at the actual world, XYZ at Twin Earth, etc.),
“the natural kind that realizes the water role at the actual world” picks out the same
natural kind at every world. Thus a contingent and empirical fact about the actual world
again prevents the extension of a predicate—this time across possible worlds—from
corresponding to what is, by the criterion of cognitive significance, the content of the
expression in question.
There is a solution in this case, however, and it is analogous to the solution in the earlier
case. We can arrive at an extension of a predicate that reflects its content if we can
abstract from the actual world contingencies that break the connection between the
content of a predicate and its extension across possible worlds. Furthermore, we have the
tools at hand to do so. What I have called the partial character representation of content
calls for a two-dimensional matrix: rows correspond to possible worlds construed as
contexts of acquisition, and columns to worlds construed as contexts of evaluation. 22
Now consider a fully intensionalized predicate (assume, for the sake of argument, that “is
H 2 O” is an example). Because the predicate is fully intensionalized, its possible-world
extensions do not vary as a
end p.242

Table 11.1 Content of “is H 2 O” across possible worlds

Context of EvaluationContext of Acquisition

AW* TE**
AW H2O H2O
TE H2O H2O

function of its context of acquisition (see table 11.1). That is to say, reading down each
column we have the same sequence of entries as in every other column. (Equivalently,
reading across each row, the entry is always the same.)
Thus for fully intensionalized predicates, the matrix representation for their content
reduces simply to the function from possible worlds (construed as contexts of evaluation)
to extensions—that is, just the kind of function from possible worlds to extensions that
has traditionally been thought to provide the contents of predicates. And for fully
intensionalized predicates, this is a completely adequate characterization of their
contents.
Contrast this with the case of a predicate such as “the natural kind that plays the water
role at the actual world.” Acquired or uttered at the actual world, this has H 2 O as its
extension at every possible world (construed as a context of evaluation). Acquired and/or
uttered on Twin Earth, however, (construed as a possible world and a context of
acquisition and utterance), it has as its extension XYZ at every possible world (construed
as a context of evaluation) (see table 11.2).
We might put this by saying that contingencies at the context of acquisition or utterance
are leveraged into necessities by our method of evaluating our subject's beliefs and
utterances at possible worlds. Instead of carrying a fully intensionalized content to the
various contexts of evaluation, we carry the thing that in fact satisfies the content (in this
case a description) at the context of acquisition or utterance. We can say, then, that the
function of the possible-world apparatus in bringing extensions in line with content
(understood in terms of cognitive significance) that we saw earlier in connection with “is
a creature with a heart” is undermined by our method of evaluating our expressions at the
possible contexts of evaluation. And, of course, everything that has been said of the
predicate “is the natural kind that plays

Table 11.2 Content of “the natural kind that plays the water role in the actual
world” across possible worlds

Context of EvaluationContext of Acquisition

AW TE
AW H2O XYZ
TE H2O XYZ
end p.243

the water role at the actual world” has an analogue with respect to “is the person
originating from sperm cell Adam at the actual world.”
But how does this treatment of possible worlds as possible contexts of acquisition help
with our problem—indeed, Kripke's problem—that there may be no vocabulary available
to the subject in which to express a fully intensionalized content available to the subject
that has the same cognitive significance for the subject as the relevant predicate?
The answer is that there is a move open to us that is analogous to the move from taking
extensions of predicates at the actual world to taking their extensions across all possible
worlds in order to fix their contents. As we have seen, we can abstract from the
contingency that at the actual world “is a creature with a heart” and “is a creature with a
liver” have the same extensions by looking at their extensions at all possible worlds.
Similarly, we can abstract from the contingency that it is H 2 O that realizes the water role
at the actual world by looking at its extensions across all possible contexts of acquisition
and utterance. In other words, we explain the property that explains the possibility of
rational error in a case of this kind not as the property expressed by some (set of)
descriptive predicates available to the subject, but as one characterized by, reducible to,
or identical with, the two- dimensional matrix that abstracts from the contingencies of the
actual world not only as it is construed as a context of evaluation, but as it is construed as
a context of acquisition and/or utterance.
By identifying the thin properties needed to make the Weakened, Modified Semantic
Premise immune to counterexamples with the two-dimensional matrices associated with
the predicates in question, we can overcome the dilemma confronting Kripke's treatment
of this issue. And although Boyd's strategy for dealing with the so-called illusion of
contingency in the case of pain and C-fiber firing raises a problem for Kripke, it presents
no problem for the present account. Nor is there any question about whether the
properties this account yields are thin enough. Keeping fixed the content (in the sense of
cognitive significance) that individuals associate with the referring expressions that occur
in the kinds of identities in question, we let everything else vary, compatible with
consistency. If, in so doing, we produce a description of a world at which the identity, so
understood, fails, then we have a rationalizing explanation and justification of the subject
who calls that identity into doubt.
Does this reference to cognitive significance render the account circular? After all, one of
our stated goals was to explain cognitive significance. I think the answer is no. In “Partial
Character and the Language of Thought” (1982), I argued that what was held constant
across possible contexts of acquisition was the functional makeup underlying the
subject's use of the term in question, and this principle seems sufficient for our purposes
here. For the physicalist is committed to a sense of meaning that supervenes on what is in
the head—namely, the sense in which meaning just is cognitive significance. This is
simply the upshot of examples we have already seen. (Recall the example of Smith,
whose irrationality regarding Jones's honesty was independent of the facts regarding
external causal chains precisely because the equivalence in the cognitive significance of
his referring expressions was a matter of what was available to him at the personal level.)
If this is the case, however, then the
end p.244

physicalist cannot object to a reductive, internal characterization of cognitive


significance. (If identity or sufficient similarity of the relevant functional states is not
enough, we can always add the requirement that the realizations of the functional states
be “of the right physical kind.”)
We can, then, appeal to the two-dimensional framework to answer the objection to
Kripke regarding natural kind terms—and to provide enough of what would be provided
by a positive theory of narrow content to deal with the objections to the property dualism
argument and the Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise. And if we can dismiss the
objections on grounds that the physicalist cannot dismiss, then the dilemma for
physicalism stands: either dualism regarding sensations such as pain or properties of such
sensations on the one hand, or eliminativism regarding the intentional on the other.
But note: Not only is the property dualism argument not intended to provide an account
of narrow content—it is not intended to provide a positive account of any sort. It is an
argument that the physicalist account in question faces an insurmountable obstacle. Thus
it has been a matter of working within the physicalist framework to show that it cannot do
justice to the concepts that it purports to explicate. But working within such a framework
and making the minimum number of changes in order to solve isolated problems is not
likely to be the best way of constructing a positive alternative. My own current preferred
account of reference, for example, 23 would give pride of place not to bare causal chains,
but to irreducibly agential skills and capacities. (See the opening section of this chapter.)
Such an account would require that what we keep fixed as we move from one possible
context of acquisition to another are just those skills and capacities that underlie the
agent's use of the relevant term. Having noted that what I have here is a negative
argument and not a positive account, I can legitimately defer this discussion.
The Weakened, Modified Semantic Premise stands, then, and this account makes it clear
why. The logical possibility that defines the possible worlds to which we appeal and that
provides the metaphysical conclusion to the property dualism argument and the real
conceivability that provides the premise are at bottom the same: describability in
complete detail without contradiction. The simplicity of this connection is of course
complicated significantly by the broad content that—in the form of gap-inducing
linguistic devices—governs the evaluation of our utterances and beliefs at other possible
worlds. It is the fundamental need to explain the possibility of rational error, however,
that provides both the need for a notion of content that tracks cognitive significance and
the notion that reestablishes the fundamental connection between what we can rationally
conceive and what we are committed to regarding as possible in the most fundamental
sense of the term.
end p.245

Appendix

Thick 1 → Thick 2

Suppose a property P is thick 1 . Then there is some feature F, discoverable at the actual
world, such that for any possible world, something is P if and only if it is F. But if this is
how the predicate that expresses P works, then had the actual world been different, P
would have been different. And this entails that the predicate does not have an intension
that is invariant with respect to contexts of acquisition and/or utterance.
Thin 1 → Thin 2
Suppose there is no empirically discoverable essence. Then either (a) there is no
empirical content as in, say, mathematical predicates, logical predicates, automata
theoretic predicates, and so forth. Alternatively, (b) it varies from world to world. If (a),
then it doesn't matter where we acquire the term; we can simply look at a possible world
and tell whether something satisfies the predicate at that world.
But the same is true if (b). Consider again the description “the natural kind that falls as
rain, fills the lakes and oceans, and flows from the faucets.” And suppose that the
description gives the content of “water” and is understood as nonrigid. Then although at
each possible world there is much to be discovered empirically about the referent of the
description, there is nothing empirically discoverable that is true across all possible
worlds. (All that is true across all possible worlds is that at each world where water exists
it falls as rain, etc., and we know this a priori.) Hence there is no empirically discoverable
essence. But in this case it doesn't matter where we acquire the term or where we utter it,
it has the same intension—that is the same function from possible worlds to extensions.
Thin 3 → Thin 1
If a predicate has no devices of direct reference and is fully intensionalized, then there is
nothing which is context sensitive. We can apply it to a possible world without having to
know anything about the references of any referential devices at the actual world (besides
what we know on the basis of an understanding of the language alone). Thus there is no
room for a hidden or empirically discoverable essence. We could put this metaphorically
by saying that there is nothing we have to “carry to another possible world,” along with
the predicate, to determine its extension at that world.

Thick 3 → Thick 1

Suppose the predicate is not fully intensionalized. How, then, could we apply it to a
possible world? We don't have a fully determinate content to “carry” to that world. What
is the alternative? We get the necessary and sufficient conditions that we need by
determining the referent at the actual world and taking the necessary and sufficient
conditions for being that thing across possible worlds. But this gives us an empirically
discoverable essence.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to Torin Alter, Ned Block, and David Chalmers for comments and
suggestions regarding earlier drafts.
end p.246

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end p.248

twelve Max Black's Objection to Mind-Body Identity


Ned Block

In his famous article advocating mind-body identity, J. J. C. Smart (1959) considered an


objection that he thought was first put to him by Max Black. He says, “It is the most
subtle of any of those I have considered, and the one which I am least confident of having
satisfactorily met” (148). This argument, the “Property Dualism Argument,” as it is often
called, turns on much the same issue as Frank Jackson's (1982, 1986) “Knowledge
Argument,” or so I will argue. This chapter is aimed at elaborating and rebutting the
Property Dualism Argument (or rather a family of property dualism arguments) and
drawing some connections to the Knowledge Argument. 1 I also examine John Perry's
(2001) book, which discusses both Max Black's argument and the Knowledge Argument
as well as some arguments drawn from Stephen White's (1986) essay on the topic and
arguments inspired by unpublished papers by White. 2
I will say a bit about what the basic idea of the Property Dualism Argument is and
compare it with the Knowledge Argument. Then I will discuss Perry's view of both
issues. Next, I will introduce an ambiguity in the notion of mode of
end p.249

presentation and use that to give a more precise statement and rebuttal of one version of
the Property Dualism Argument. In the second half of the chapter, I will use this setup to
exposit and rebut another version of the Property Dualism Argument.

What Is the Property Dualism Argument?

Smart said:
Suppose we identify the Morning Star with the Evening Star. Then there must be some
properties which logically imply that of being the Morning Star, and quite distinct
properties which entail that of being the Evening Star. (1959: 148)
Smart goes on to apply this moral to mind-body identity, concluding that “there must be
some properties (for example, that of being a yellow flash) which are logically distinct
from those in the physicalist story” (148). He later characterizes the objection to
physicalism as “the objection that a sensation can be identified with a brain process only
if it has some phenomenal property … whereby one-half of the identification may be, so
to speak, pinned down” (149). The suggestion here is apparently that the problem of
physicalism will arise for that phenomenal property even if the original mind-body
identity is true. This concern motivated the “dual-aspect” theory, in which mental events
are held to be identical to physical events even though those mental events are alleged to
have irreducible mental properties. (See also Shaffer 1963.) Smart did not adequately
distinguish between token events (e.g., this pain) and types of events (e.g., pain itself), or
between token events and properties such as the property of being a pain, the property of
being pain, or the property of being in pain (the first being a property of pains, the second
being a property of a property, and the last being a property of persons; for purposes of
this chapter, I will take types of events to be properties—any of those just mentioned will
do). But later commentators have seen that the issue arises even if one starts with a mind-
body property identity, even if the mind-body identity theory that is being challenged
says that the property of being in pain (for example) is identical to a physical property.
For the issue arises as to how that property is “pinned down,” to use Smart's phrase. If the
mind body-identity says that phenomenal property Q = brain property B 52 , then the
question raised by the argument is this: Is the property by which Q is “pinned down”
nonphysical or is something nonphysical required by the way it is pinned down? 3
John Perry states the argument as follows:
Even if we identify experiences with brain states, there is still the question of what makes
the brain state an experience, and the experience it is; it seems like that must be an
additional property the brain state has. … There must be a property that serves as our
mode of presentation of the experience as an experience… . (2001: 101)
end p.250

Later, in discussing Jackson's Knowledge Argument, Perry considers the future


neuroscientist Mary, who is raised in a black-and-white room (which Perry calls the
Jackson Room) and learns all that anyone can learn about the scientific nature of the
experience of red without ever seeing anything red. While in the room, Mary uses the
term “Q R ” for the sensation of red, a sensation whose neurological character she knows
but has never herself had. Perry says:
If told the knowledge argument, Black might say, “But then isn't there something about Q
R that Mary didn't learn in the Jackson room, that explains the difference between ‘Q R is
Q R ’ which she already knew in the Jackson room, and (5) [Perry's (5) is: Q R is this
subjective character], which she didn't?” There must be a new mode of presentation of
that state to which “Q R ” refers, which is to say some additional and apparently non-
physical aspect of that state, that she learned about only when she exited the room, that
explains why (5) is new knowledge. (2001: 101) 4
On one way of understanding Perry, he uses “mode of presentation” not in the usual
Fregean sense of something cognitive or semantic about a representation, but rather for a
property of the represented referent. He seems to see Black's problem as arising from the
question of the physicality of the mode of presentation in that non-Fregean sense of the
term. Smart speaks in the same spirit of a property that pins down one half of the
identification.
The idea of the Property Dualism Argument and, I will argue, of the Knowledge
Argument is that the mind-body identity approach to phenomenality fails in regard to the
phenomenality that is involved in a certain kind of subjective mode of presentation (in
both the Fregean and non-Fregean senses mentioned) of a phenomenal state. Even if a
mind-body identity claim is true, when we look at the mode of presentation of the mental
side of the identity, we are forced to accept a “double aspect” account in which
unreducible phenomenal properties remain. However, don't expect a full statement of the
main version of the Property Dualism Argument until nearly the halfway point. The next
items on the agenda are connections to the Knowledge Argument, then Perry's solutions
to both problems. After that, I take up the question of the difference between and
respective roles of the Fregean and non-Fregean notions of mode of presentation.
Consider a specific phenomenal property, Q, the property of feeling like the pain I am
having right now. (If pain just is a type of feel, then Q is just pain.) The physicalist says,
let us suppose, that Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation of
end p.251

such-and-such a kind. (I will drop the last six words.) This is an a posteriori claim. Thus
the identity depends on the expressions on either side of the “=” expressing distinct
concepts, that is, on their having distinct modes of presentation, for if the concepts and
modes of presentation were the same, it is said, the identity would be a priori. (An
ambiguity involved in this reasoning—one that derives from [surprise!] the distinction
between Fregean and non-Fregean modes of presentation—will be scrutinized later in the
chapter.)
“Q” in my terminology is very different from “Q R ” in Perry's terminology since “Q R ”
is a term that Mary understands in the black-and-white room. By contrast, “Q” is meant
(by me, even if not by Perry and Smart) as the verbal expression of a phenomenal
concept. A phenomenal concept of the experience of red is what Mary lacked in the
black-and-white room and what she gained when she went outside of it. (She also lacked
a phenomenal concept of the color red, but I will not depend on that.) Why do I insist that
“Q” express a phenomenal concept? Because the mind-body identity claim under
consideration must be one in which the phenomenal property is referred to under a
phenomenal concept of it for the Property Dualism Argument—in any of its forms—to
even get off the ground. (The Knowledge Argument also depends on the use of a
phenomenal concept in my sense.) Suppose that in the original identity claim we allowed
any old concept of Q, such as “the property whose onset of instantiation here was at 5
p.m. ” or “the property whose instantiation causes the noise ‘ouch’.” There is no special
problem having to do with phenomenality for the physicalist about the cognitive
significance of such properties or how such properties could pick out their referents. The
modes of presentation of these properties raise no issues of the metaphysical status of
phenomenality. If the original paradigm of mind-body identity were “the property whose
onset of instantiation here was at 5 p.m. = cortico-thalamic oscillation,” the property in
virtue of which the left-hand term presents the referent would not be a special candidate
for nonphysicality. It would be the property of being instantiated here starting at 5 p.m .
The Property Dualism Argument depends on an identity in which a phenomenal concept
is involved on the mental side. To allow a nonphenomenal concept is to discuss an
argument that has only a superficial resemblance to the Property Dualism Argument.
With all this emphasis on phenomenal concepts, you may wonder what qualifies as one.
A phenomenal concept is individuated with respect to fundamental uses that involve the
actual occurrence of phenomenal properties at the time of those fundamental uses. In
these fundamental uses, a simultaneous actually occurring experience is used to think
about that very experience. No one could have a phenomenal concept if he could not in
some way relate the concept to such fundamental uses in which the subject actually has a
simultaneous instance of the phenomenal quality.
That is what I mean by a phenomenal concept, but in the rest of this chapter, I will often
adopt a simplification: the fundamental uses will be taken to be all the uses of the
concepts. That is, I will assume that in the exercise of a phenomenal concept, the subject
actually has to have an experience. Phenomenal concepts, in this heavy-duty sense, do
not really correspond to the kind of general ability that we take concepts to be
individuated by. But because it is these fundamental uses that

figure in this chapter, it will make matters simpler if we usually talk about the concepts as
if their only uses were the fundamental uses. The idea of these heavy-duty phenomenal
concepts is that an instantiation of a phenomenal property is used in the concept to pick
out a phenomenal property (a type). Of course, the experience involved in the
fundamental use need not be an additional experience, that is, additional to the referent.
A single experience can be both the object of thought and part of the way of thinking
about that object. Further, one does not have to have an experience of red in order to
think about an experience of red. One can think about the experience of red using, for
example, a purely descriptive concept of it, such as “the color of ripe tomatoes.” 5
Perry (2001, 2004a, 2004b) uses what may be a more relaxed notion of phenomenal
concept, in which a phenomenal concept is a kind of mental folder that contains what he
calls a “Humean idea” of the experience. He says:
Thinking of having the experience of some kind in this way is not having the experience,
but it is in some uncanny way like it. Usually the same kinds of emotions attach to the
thinking as to the having, although in a milder form. It is usually pleasant to anticipate or
imagine having pleasant experiences, and unpleasant to anticipate or imagine having
unpleasant ones, for example. (2004b: 221)
Perry's notion of a phenomenal concept is vague on the crucial point. Sure, thinking of
having the experience is not just having the experience. Dogs can have experiences, but
(we presume) they can't think about them. The question is, Does a phenomenal concept in
Perry's sense require that the subject relate the concept to the fundamental uses I
mentioned that involve an actual simultaneous experience? As I shall argue in the section
on Perry below, the problem for Perry's treatment hinges on whether phenomenal
concepts in his sense are phenomenal enough to give the Knowledge Argument and the
Property Dualism Argument a fighting chance.
It is time to turn to my claim that the Knowledge Argument hinges on the same
requirement of a phenomenal concept in my sense as the Property Dualism Argument.
Mary is reared in a colorless environment but learns all there is to know about the
physical and functional nature of color and color vision. Yet she acquires new knowledge
when she leaves the room for the first time and sees colored objects. Jackson concludes
that there are facts about what it is like to see red that go beyond the physical and
functional facts, and so dualism is true. From the outset, the following line of response
has persuaded many critics. 6 Mary knew about the subjective experience of red via an
objective concept from neuroscience. On leaving the room, she acquires a subjective
concept of the same subjective experience. In learning what it is like to see red, she does
not learn about a new property. She
end p.253

knew about that property in the room under an objective concept of it, and what she
learns is a new concept of that very property. One can acquire new knowledge about old
properties by acquiring new concepts of them. I may know that vinegar is in the bottle
and learn that acetic acid is in the bottle. In so doing, I do not learn of any new property
instantiated (because the property of being vinegar just is the property of being acetic
acid), and in that sense I do not learn of any new fact. I acquire new knowledge that is
based on a new concept of the property that I already knew to be instantiated. When
Mary acquires the new subjective concept that enables her to have new knowledge, the
new knowledge acquired does not show that there are any properties beyond the physical
properties. Of course, it does require that there are concepts that are not physicalistic
concepts; however, that is not a form of dualism but only garden-variety conceptual
pluralism: concepts of physics are also distinct from concepts of, say, economics and
concepts of biology. The idea of the argument is to substitute a dualism of concepts for a
dualism of properties and facts: there is a new concept but no new properties or facts in
the relevant sense.
A natural rejoinder from the dualist is this. After seeing red for the first time, how does
Mary “pin down” (to use Smart's obscure phrase) that old property? Or, to use an equally
obscure phrase, what is Mary's “mode of presentation” of that old property? 7 When she
acquires a subjective concept of the property that she used to have only an objective
concept of, a new unreduced and unreducible subjective property is required to “pin
down” the old objective property. This is the key stage in the dialectic about Mary, and
this stage of the dialectic brings in the same considerations that are at play in the Property
Dualism Argument. Just to have a name for it, let us call this idea that the phenomenal
concept that Mary acquires itself contains or else requires unreducible phenomenality the
“metaphenomenal” move in the dialectic. 8
The issue is sometimes put in terms of a distinction between two kinds of propositions.
(See van Gulick 1993, 2006.) Coarse-grained propositions can be taken to be sets of
possible worlds (or, alternatively, Russellian propositions that are n-tuples of objects and
properties but contain no [Fregean] modes of presentation). The proposition (in this
sense) that Harry Houdini escaped his bonds is the same coarse-grained proposition as
the proposition that Erich Weiss escaped, in that the possible worlds in which Harry
Houdini escaped are the same as the worlds in which Erich Weiss escaped, because Harry
Houdini is Erich Weiss. (Alternatively,
end p.254
these are the same Russellian propositions because the proposition is the same
proposition as .) Fine-grained propositions include (Fregean) modes of presentation, and
so the different names determine different fine-grained propositions. When we say that
Harry Houdini escaped, we express a different fine-grained proposition from the one we
express when we say that Erich Weiss escaped. In these terms, the issue is: does Mary's
new knowledge involve merely a new fine-grained proposition (in which case
physicalism is unscathed because Mary's new knowledge does not eliminate any
possibilities), or does it require a new coarse-grained proposition (as well)? It is the
phenomenal mode of presentation (in the Fregean sense) of Mary's new subjective
concept of a property for which she already had an objective concept that motivates the
idea that she gains new coarse-grained knowledge. The metaphenomenal move is at play:
the thought is that that phenomenal mode of presentation brings in something
fundamentally ontological and not something on the order of (merely) a different
description. The idea is that when something phenomenal is part of a (Fregean) mode of
presentation, it will not do for the physicalist to say that that phenomenal item is
unproblematically physical. Whether one agrees with this idea or not, if one does not
recognize the idea, one misses a crucial step in the dialectic about Mary.
I said that the standard reply to Jackson's argument attempts to substitute a dualism of
concepts for a dualism of properties and facts. But the dualist rejoinder that I have been
describing—exploited in pretty much the same way by the Knowledge Argument and the
Property Dualism Argument—is that the dualism of concepts requires a dualism of
properties and facts.
I said that Mary acquires a subjective concept of the experience of red, whereas what she
already had was an objective concept of it. However, the subjective concept she acquires
is of a particular kind, namely, a phenomenal concept of the experience of red. Had she
acquired an objective concept—say, the concept of the type of experience that occurred at
5 p.m. , the argument would have no plausibility. But even some subjective concepts
would not do, as is the case with the concept of the type of experience that happened 5
minutes ago. This concept is subjective in that it involves the temporal location of the
subject from the subject's point of view (“now”), but it is no more suitable for the
Knowledge Argument than is the objective concept just mentioned. What is needed for
the metaphenomenal move in the dialectic about the Knowledge Argument is that Mary
acquire a mode of presentation that is either itself problematic for physicalism or that
requires that the referent have a property that is problematic for physicalism. And in this
regard, it is just like the Property Dualism Argument.
What Mary learns is sometimes put like this: “Oh, so this is what it is like to see red,”
where “what it is like to see red” is a phrase she understood in the black-and-white room,
and the italicized “this” is supposed to express a phenomenal concept. Because there is
some doubt as to whether a demonstrative concept can really be a phenomenal concept
(I'll explain the doubt below), we could put the point better by saying that what Mary
learns is that P = the property of being an experience of red, where it is stipulated that “P”
expresses a phenomenal concept (of a phenomenal property) and “is an experience of
red” is a term Mary understood in the black-and-white room. But there is nothing special
about this item of knowledge in
end p.255

the articulation of the point of the Knowledge Argument as compared with other items of
knowledge that use “P.” In particular, one could imagine that one of the things that Mary
learns is that P = the property of being cortico-thalamic oscillation. She already knew in
the room that the experience of red = cortico-thalamic oscillation (where it is understood
that “the experience of red” is something she understood in the black-and-white room),
but she learns that P = the property of being cortico-thalamic oscillation. The proposition
that P = the property of being cortico-thalamic oscillation is supposed to be a new coarse-
grained proposition, one that she did not know in the black-and-white room. This version
of the Knowledge Argument makes the overlap with the Property Dualism Argument in
the metaphenomenal move explicit: there is supposed to be something problematic about
physicalism if it is stated using a phenomenal concept. That is, what is problematic is
something about the “mode of presentation” of the phenomenal side of the identity. Both
arguments can be put in the form: even if we take physicalism to be true, that supposition
is undermined by the phenomenal “mode of presentation” in the knowledge or statement
of it. 9
I have used, more or less interchangeably, terms such as “pin down,” “mode of
presentation,” “concept,” and “way of thinking.” But there is an ambiguity (the ambiguity
between Fregean and non-Fregean readings) that must be resolved in order to focus on a
precise statement of these arguments. Before I turn to that topic, however, I will give a
critique of Perry's approach to Max Black, the Knowledge Argument, and modal
arguments for dualism.

Perry's Treatment of the Two Arguments

Perry's (2001, 2004a, 2004b) approach to the Knowledge Argument is roughly along the
lines mentioned above: Mary does something like acquiring a new subjective concept of
a property that she had an objective concept of while in the black-and-white room. But
Perry gives that response two new twists with two ideas: that the new concept is part of
what he calls a “reflexive content” and that
end p.256

Mary need not actually acquire the new concept so long as she is appropriately sensitive
to it.
Here is a quotation from Perry (2001) that gives his response both to Max Black's
problem and to the Knowledge Argument:
We can now, by way of review, see how Black's dilemma is to be avoided. Let's return to
our imagined physicalist discovery, as thought by Mary, attending to her sensation of a
red tomato:
This i sensation = B 52 . [where “this i ” is an internal demonstrative, and B 52 is a brain
property that she has already identified in the black-and-white room]
This is an informative identity; it involves two modes of presentation. One is the
scientifically expressed property of being B 52 , with whatever structural, locational,
compositional and other scientific properties are encoded in the scientific term. This is
not a neutral concept. The other is being a sensation that is attended to by Mary. This is a
neutral concept; if the identity is true, it is the neutral concept of a physical property.
Thus, according to the antecedent physicalist [who takes physicalism as the default view],
Mary knows the brain state in two ways, as the scientifically described state and as the
state that is playing a certain role in her life, the one she is having, and to which she is
attending. The state has the properties that make it mental: there is something it is like to
be in it and one can attend to it in the special way we have of attending to our own inner
states. (2001: 205; bracketed annotations added)
If Mary's concept were “being the sensation attended to by Mary” it could not be
regarded as a topic-neutral concept unless the terms “sensation” and “attend” are
themselves understood in a topic-neutral manner. (Ryle introduced the term “topic-
neutral” for expressions that indicate nothing about the subject matter. Smart offered
topic-neutral analyses of mental terms that were supposed to entail neither that the
property is physical nor that it is nonphysical. But it is clear that mentalistic terminology
was supposed to be precluded, for otherwise no topic-neutral analyses would be
needed—the terms would already have been topic-neutral.)
If Mary's concept is topic-neutral, it is not a phenomenal concept in the sense required by
the Property Dualism Argument. Although Perry rejects the “deflationist” view that
phenomenal concepts can be analyzed a priori in nonphenomenal terms (as Smart
advocated), his approach to arguments for dualism is to appeal to topic-neutral
demonstrative/recognitional concepts as surrogates for phenomenal concepts. To explain
what he has in mind, we need to introduce what he calls “reflexive content.”
Propositional attitudes have “subject matter” contents that concern the properties and
objects the attitudes are about. The subject matter content of your belief that the morning
star rises could be taken to be the Russellian proposition . But there are other thoughts
that have the same subject matter content and have the same truth condition: for example,
that the heavenly object which you are now thinking of is in the extension of the property
that is the object of your concept of rising. This thought has the same subject matter
content but a different reflexive content. (“Reflexive” is meant to indicate that what is
being brought in has to do with the way thought and language fit onto the world or might
fit onto the world.) The subject matter content of the claim that this i (where “this i ” is an
internal demonstrative) = B 52 , if physicalism is right, is the same as that this i = this i or
that B 52 = B 52 .
end p.257

Perry's intriguing idea is that my belief can have reflexive contents, the concepts of which
are not concepts that I actually have (or even if I have them, those concepts are not ones
that I am exercising in using demonstrative or recognitional concepts that have those
reflexive contents). However, he argues persuasively that these concepts may be
psychologically relevant nonetheless if the subject is “attuned” to the concepts in
reasoning and deciding. Attunement is a doxastic attitude that can have contents that are
not contents of anything the subject believes or has concepts of. For example, I can be
attuned to a difference in the world that makes a perceptual difference without
conceptualizing the difference in the world. Perry's view is that our intuitions about
contents often involve reflexive contents that we are attuned to rather than subject matter
contents that we explicitly entertain.
Perry's solution to Max Black's problem and his reply to Jackson is to focus on a topic-
neutral version of what Mary learns. I am not sure whether it is just the
demonstrative/recognitional concept (“this i ”) that is topic-neutral, or whether the
reflexive content of it is also supposed to be topic-neutral. But both proposals evade the
Max Black problem without solving it. In the passage quoted earlier, he says that what
Mary learns can be put in terms of “This i sensation is brain state B 52 ,” where “this i ” is
a topic-neutral internal demonstrative/recognitional concept. If the suggestion is that
Mary acquires the belief that this i is brain state B 52 , the problem is that the topic-neutral
concept involved in this belief is not a phenomenal concept, so the real force of the
Knowledge Argument (and Max Black's argument) is just ignored. However, it seems
that Perry's suggestion is that Mary comes to be attuned to the relevant reflexive content
instead of coming to believe it. He thinks that what Mary learns can be expressed in
terms of something she is attuned to and that Max Black's problem can be solved by
appealing to this attunement to the same content. That is, in using demonstrative and
recognitional concepts in the thought “This i sensation = B 52 ,” Mary becomes attuned to
a reflexive content like “the sensation Mary is attending to is the scientifically described
state” without explicitly exercising those concepts.
But does substituting attunement for belief avoid the objection I made that Perry is
neglecting the phenomenal concepts that give the argument a chance? Does attunement
help in formulating a response to the Mary and Max Black arguments that takes account
of the metaphenomenal move in the Mary dialectic? I think not.
Distinguish between two versions of Jackson's “Mary.” Sophisticated Mary acquires a
genuine phenomenal concept when she sees red for the first time. Naïve Mary is much
less intellectual than Sophisticated Mary. Naïve Mary does not acquire a phenomenal
concept when she sees red for the first time (just as a pigeon, we presume, would not
acquire a new concept on seeing red for the first time), nor does she acquire an explicit
topic-neutral concept, but she is nonetheless attuned to a certain topic-neutral
nonphenomenal concept such as that of “The sensation I am now attending to is the brain
state I wrote my thesis on earlier.” In addition, we might suppose (although Perry does
not mention such a thing) that Naïve Mary is also attuned to a genuine phenomenal
concept of a color even though she does not actually acquire such a concept.
As I mentioned earlier, there is a well-known solution to the Mary problem that takes
Mary as Sophisticated Mary. What Sophisticated Mary learns is a
end p.258

phenomenal concept of a physical property that she already had a physical concept of in
the black-and-white room. Any solution to the Mary problem in terms of Naïve Mary is
easily countered by a Jacksonian opponent who shifts the thought experiment from Naïve
to Sophisticated Mary. Consider this dialectic. Perry offers his solution. The Jacksonian
opponent says: “OK, maybe that avoids the problem of Naïve Mary, but the argument for
dualism is revived if we consider a version of the thought experiment involving
Sophisticated Mary, that is, a version of the thought experiment in which Mary actually
acquires the phenomenal concept instead of merely being attuned to it (or attuned to a
topic-neutral surrogate of it). What Sophisticated Mary learns is a content that contains a
genuine phenomenal concept. And that content was not available to her in the room.
What she acquires is phenomenal knowledge (involving a phenomenal concept),
knowledge that is not deducible from the physicalistic knowledge she had in the black-
and-white room. So dualism is true.”
Indeed, it is this explicit phenomenal concept that makes it at least somewhat plausible
that what Mary acquires is a new coarse-grained belief as well as a new fine-grained
belief. Perry cannot reply to this version of the thought experiment (involving
Sophisticated Mary) by appealing to the other one (involving Naïve Mary). And the
thought experiment involving Sophisticated Mary is not avoided by appeal to attunement
to a topic-neutral concept or even to a phenomenal concept.
As I indicated earlier, the crucial point in the dialectic about Mary is this: The dualist
says, “The concept that Mary acquires (or acquires an attunement to) has a mode of
presentation that involves or requires unreducible phenomenality.” If Perry appeals to the
idea that the concept is topic-neutral or has a topic-neutral reflexive content, the dualist
can reasonably say, “But that isn't the concept I was talking about; I was talking about a
genuinely phenomenal concept.” 10
Let us now turn to Perry's solution to the Max Black problem. Although the Max Black
problem is mentioned a number of times in the book, Perry's solution is expressed briefly
in what I quoted above. He clearly intends it to be a by-product of his solutions to the
other problems. I take it that that solution is the same as the solution to the Mary
problem, namely that the problem posed by the alleged nonphysical nature of the mode of
presentation of the phenomenal side of a mind-body
end p.259

identity or what is required by that mode of presentation can be avoided by thinking of


what Mary learns in terms of a demonstrative/recognitional topic-neutral concept that—
perhaps—has a topic-neutral reflexive content. The proponent of the Max Black
argument (the property dualist) is concerned that in the mind-body identity claim “P = B
52 ,” where “P” expresses a phenomenal concept, the phenomenal mode of presentation of
P undermines the reductionist claim that P = B 52 . Someone who advocates this claim—
and who, like Perry, rejects deflationist analyses of phenomenal concepts—is certainly
not going to be satisfied by being told that the content that Mary is attuned to is topic-
neutral. The property dualist will say: “So what? My concern was that the mode of
presentation of P introduces an unreducible phenomenality; whether Perry's topic-neutral
content is something we believe or are merely attuned to is not relevant.” And even if
what Mary is attuned to is a reflexive content that contains a genuine phenomenal
concept, that also evades the issue without solving it, since the dualist can reasonably say
that it is the actual phenomenal concept on which the argument for dualism is based.
Perry also applies his apparatus to the modal arguments for dualism such as Kripke's and
Chalmers's. Why do we have the illusion that “This i sensation = B 52 ” is contingent,
given that (according to physicalism) it is a metaphysically necessary truth? Perry's
answer is that the necessary identity has some contingent reflexive contents, such as: that
the subjective character of red objects appears like so-and-so on an autocerebroscope, is
called “B 52 ,” and is what I was referring to in my journal articles. The illusion of
contingency comes from these reflexive contents. Here, the metaphenomenal move I
mentioned earlier has no role to play. I think Perry's point has considerable force.
However, the dualist can respond to Perry by saying, “Look, I can identify the brain state
by its essential properties and still wonder whether I could have that brain state (so
identified) without this i phenomenal property.” A version of this argument will be
explored later in the chapter.
Though I agree with Perry on many things about phenomenality and find his book, with
its notion of attunement to reflexive concepts, insightful and useful, there is one key item
from which all our disagreements stem. He does not recognize the need for, or rather he
is vague about the need for, a kind of phenomenal concept that itself requires
fundamental uses that are actually experiential. When saying what it is that Mary learns,
he says: “This new knowledge is a case of recognitional or identificational
knowledge. … We cannot identify what is new about it with subject-matter contents; we
can with reflexive contents” (2004: 147). The physicalist will agree that what Mary learns
is not a new subject matter content (in the sense explained earlier). But the problem is
that it is unclear whether the recognitional or identificational concepts that Perry has in
mind have the phenomenality required to avoid begging the question against the advocate
of Max Black's argument. When he proposes to explain away the intuitions that motivate
the Max Black argument and the Knowledge Argument by appeal to a topic-neutral
concept, he loses touch with what I called the metaphenomenal move and, with it, the
intuitive basis of these arguments in phenomenal concepts, or so it seems to me.
The reader may have noticed that there has still not been an explicit statement of the
Property Dualism Argument. I have postponed the really difficult and controversial part
of the discussion, the explanation of an ambiguity in “mode of presentation,” and I turn to
that now.
end p.260

Modes of Presentation

The “mode of presentation” of a term is often supposed to be whatever it is on the basis


of which the term picks out its referent. The phrase is also used to mean the cognitive
significance of a term, which is often glossed as whatever it is about the terms involved
that explains how true identities can be informative. (Why is it informative that Tony
Curtis = Bernie Schwartz but not that Tony Curtis = Tony Curtis?) However, it is not
plausible that these two functions converge on the same entity, as noted in Tyler Burge
(1977) and Alex Byrne and Jim Pryor (2006). 11
I believe that these two functions or roles are not satisfied by the same entity, and so one
could speak of an ambiguity in “mode of presentation.” However, perhaps confusingly,
the Property Dualism Argument depends on a quite different ambiguity in “mode of
presentation.” 12 I will distinguish between the cognitive mode of presentation (CMoP)
and the metaphysical mode of presentation (MMoP). The CMoP is the Fregean mode of
presentation mentioned earlier, a constellation of mental (cognitive or experiential) or
semantic features of a term or mental representation that plays a role in determining its
reference or, alternatively but not equivalently, constitutes the basis of explanation of
how true identities can be informative (and how rational disagreement is possible—I will
take the task of explaining informativeness and rational disagreement to be the same,
using “cognitive significance” for both. I will also tend to simplify, using “cognitive,” to
describe the relevant constellation of features. Since semantic and experiential
differences make a cognitive difference, they don't need to be mentioned separately.).
The importantly different, non-Fregean, and less familiar mode of presentation, the
MMoP, is a property of the referent. There are different notions of MMoP corresponding
to different notions of CMoP. Thus if the defining feature of the CMoP is taken to be its
role in determining reference, then the MMoP is the property of the referent in virtue of
which the CMoP plays this role in determining reference. If the defining feature of the
CMoP is taken to be explaining cognitive significance, then the MMoP is the property of
the referent in virtue of which cognitive significance is to be explained.
For example, suppose, temporarily, that we accept a descriptive theory of the meaning of
names. On this sort of view, the CMoP of “Hesperus” might be taken to be cognitive
features of “the morning star.” “The morning star” picks out its referent by virtue of the
referent's property of rising in the morning rather than its
end p.261

property of being covered with clouds or having a surface temperature of 847 degrees
Fahrenheit. The property of the referent of rising in the morning is the MMoP. (And this
would be reasonable for both purposes: explaining cognitive significance and
determining the referent.) The CMoP is much more in the ballpark of what philosophers
have tended to take modes of presentation to be, and the various versions of what a
CMoP might be are also good candidates, as good as any, for what a concept might be.
The MMoP is less often thought of as a mode of presentation—perhaps the most salient
example is certain treatments of the causal theory of reference in which a causal relation
to the referent is thought of as a mode of presentation (Devitt 1981).
In the passage quoted earlier from Perry's statement of Max Black's argument, Perry
seemed often to be talking about the MMoP. For example, he says: “Even if we identify
experiences with brain states, there is still the question of what makes the brain state an
experience, and the experience it is; it seems like that must be an additional property the
brain state has. … There must be a property that serves as our mode of presentation of the
experience as an experience” (2001: 101, italics added). Here he seems to be talking
about the MMoP of the brain state (the brain state being the experience, if physicalism is
right). When he says what Max Black would say about what Mary learns, he says: “ ‘But
then isn't there something about Q R that Mary didn't learn in the Jackson room, that
explains the difference between “Q R is Q R ” which she already knew in the Jackson
room, and (5) [(5) is: Q R is this subjective character], which she didn't?’ There must be a
new mode of presentation of that state to which ‘Q R ’ refers, which is to say some
additional and apparently nonphysical aspect of that state, that she learned about only
when she exited the room, that explains why (5) is new knowledge” (2001: 101, italics
added). Again, “aspect” means property, a property of the state. So it appears that in
Perry's rendition, a mode of presentation is an MMoP. However, his solution to Max
Black's problem focuses on the idea that the concept that Mary acquires or acquires
sensitivity to is topic-neutral, and that makes it look as if the issue in the Property
Dualism Argument is centered on the CMoP. He says, speaking of a mind-body identity:
This is an informative identity; it involves two modes of presentation. One is the
scientifically expressed property of being B 52 , with whatever structural, locational,
compositional and other scientific properties are encoded in the scientific term. This is
not a neutral concept. The other is being a sensation that is attended to by Mary. This is a
neutral concept; if the identity is true, it is the neutral concept of a physical property.
(2001: 205; italics added)
The properties of being B 52 , and being a sensation that is attended to by Mary are said
by Perry to be properties but also concepts. The properties are modes of presentation in
the metaphysical sense, but concepts are naturally taken to be or to involve modes of
presentation in the cognitive sense. The view he actually argues for is this: “We need
instead the topic-neutrality of demonstrative/recognitional concepts” (2001: 205).
end p.262

When I described the metaphenomenal move in the dialectic concerning the Knowledge
Argument, I said the phenomenal concept that Mary acquires itself contains or else
requires unreducible phenomenality. Why “contains or else requires”? In terms of the
CMoP/MMoP distinction: if the CMoP that Mary acquires is partly constituted by an
unreducible phenomenal element, then we could say that the concept contains
unreducible phenomenality. If the MMoP that is paired with the CMoP involves
unreducible phenomenality, one could say that the concept that Mary acquires requires
an unreducible phenomenal property, as a property of the referent.
In the next section, I will state a version of the Property Dualism Argument in terms of
MMoPs. But as we shall see, that argument fails because of what amounts to
equivocation: one premise is plausible only if modes of presentation are MMoPs,
whereas the other premise is plausible only if modes of presentation are CMoPs. A
second version of the Property Dualism Argument will also be couched initially in terms
of MMoPs, but that treatment is tactical, and the argument will entail some separate
discussion of CMoPs and MMoPs.
I will pause briefly to say where I stand on the main issue. The Property Dualism
Argument is concerned with a mind-body identity that says that phenomenal property Q
= brain property B 52 . The worry is that the mode of presentation of Q brings in a
nonphysical property. But mode of presentation in which sense? Start with the CMoP.
Well, a phenomenal CMoP has a constituent that is phenomenal and is used to pick out
something phenomenal. Let me explain.
If I think about the phenomenal feel of my pain while I am having it, I can do that in a
number of different ways. I could think about it using the description “the phenomenal
feel of this pain.” Or I could think about it using the phenomenal feel of the occurring
pain itself as part of the concept. But if a token phenomenal feel does double duty in this
way (as a token of an aspect of both the pain and our way of thinking of the pain), no
extra specter of dualism arises. If the phenomenal feel is a physical property, then it is a
physical property even when it (or a token of it) does double duty. The double duty is not
required by a phenomenal concept. One could in principle use one phenomenal feel in a
CMoP to pick out a different phenomenal feel. For example, the phenomenal feel of
seeing green could be used to pick out the phenomenal feel of seeing red if the concept
involves the description “complementary” in the appropriate way. But there is no reason
to think that such a use brings in any new specter of dualism.
Move now to the MMoP. We can think about a color in various ways by attending to
different properties of that color. I might think of a color via its property of being my
favorite color or the only color I know of whose name starts with “r.” Or, I may think
about it via its phenomenal feel. And what holds of thinking about a color holds for
thinking about the phenomenal feel itself. I can think of it as my favorite phenomenal
feel, or I can think about it phenomenally (for example, while looking at the color or
imagining it). If the referent is a phenomenal property P, the MMoP might be taken to be
the property of being (identical to) P. If P is physical, so is being P. So the MMoP sense
generates no new issue of dualism. That is where I stand. The property dualist, by
contrast, thinks that there are essential features of
end p.263

modes of presentation that preclude the line of thought that I expressed. That is what the
argument is really about. 13 , 14
I have not given a detailed proposal for the nature of a phenomenal CMoP because my
case does not depend on these details. But for concreteness, it might help to have an
example. We could take the form of a phenomenal CMoP to be “the experience:___,”
where the blank is filled by a phenomenal property, making it explicit how a CMoP
might mix descriptive and nondescriptive elements. 15 If the property that fills the blank
is phenomenal property P, the MMoP that is paired with this CMoP might be the property
of being P, and the referent might be P itself.
I will turn now to a bit more discussion of the CMoP/MMoP distinction and then move to
stating and refuting the Property Dualism Argument.
Different versions of the Property Dualism Argument presuppose notions of CMoP and
MMoP geared to different purposes. I have mentioned two purposes, fixing reference and
accounting for cognitive significance. A third purpose—or rather a constraint on a
purpose—is the idea that the MMoP is a priori accessible on the basis of the CMoP. And
because one cannot assume that these three functions (cognitive significance, fixing
reference, a priori accessibility) go together, one wonders how many different notions of
CMoP and MMoP there are. Burge (1977) and Byrne and Pryor (2006) give arguments
that, although put in different terms, can be used to make it plausible that these three
raisons d'être of modes of presentation do not generally go together. However, I will
rebut the Property Dualism Argument without relying—except at one point—on any
general claim that this or that function does not coincide with a different function. All of
the versions of the CMoP that I will be considering share a notion of a CMoP as a
cognitive entity, for example a mental representation. The MMoP, by contrast, is always
a property of the referent. One way in which the different raisons d'être matter is that for
fixing reference, the MMoP must not only apply to the referent but uniquely pick it out.
Further, it must have been in effect given a special authority in picking out the referent by
the subject. But when it comes to cognitive significance, the MMoP need not even apply
to the referent (as Byrne and Pryor note in somewhat different terms), so long as it seems
to the subject to apply. However, I will not be making use of this difference.
end p.264
Because physicalists say that everything is physical, they are committed to the claim that
everything cognitive, linguistic, and semantic is physical. However, not all issues for
physicalism can be discussed at once, and since this chapter's focus is on the difficulty
that phenomenality poses for physicalism, I propose to assume that the cognitive,
linguistic, and semantic features of CMoPs do not pose a problem for physicalism so long
as they do not involve anything phenomenal.
I will argue that the key step in the Property Dualism Argument can be justified in a
number of ways, assuming rather different ideas of what MMoPs and CMoPs are (so
there is really a family of property dualism arguments). There are many interesting and
controversial issues about how to choose from various ways of fleshing out notions of
CMoP and MMoP. My strategy will be to try to avoid these interesting and controversial
issues, sticking with the bare minimum needed to state and critique the Property Dualism
Argument. In particular, I will confine the discussion to CMoPs and MMoPs of singular
terms, since the mind-body identities I will be concerned with are all of the form of an
“=” flanked by singular terms (usually denoting properties). I will not discuss belief
contexts or other oblique contexts. The reader may wonder if all these different and
underspecified notions of mode of presentation are really essential to any important
argument. My view, which I hope this chapter vindicates, is that there is an interesting
family of arguments for dualism involving a family of notions of mode of presentation
and that this family of arguments is worth spelling out and rebutting.
Am I assuming the falsity of a Millian view, according to which only the referent
contributes to what is expressed and modes of presentation do not figure in concepts
(thinking of concepts as components of what is expressed)? (See Kripke 1980, p. 20.)
Without modes of presentation, the Property Dualism Argument does not get off the
ground, so if Millianism assumes that there are no modes of presentation involved in
concepts, then I am assuming Millianism is false. However, the view of phenomenal
concepts that I will be using has some affinities with a Millian view. In addition, I will
consider in the next section a version of the Property Dualism Argument in which
metaphysical modes of presentation on both sides of the identity are assumed to be
identical to the referent.
Modal arguments for dualism such as Kripke's and Chalmers's attempt to move from
epistemic premises to metaphysical conclusions. (For example, the epistemic possibility
of zombies is appealed to in order to justify a claimed metaphysical possibility of
zombies.) A similar dynamic occurs with respect to the Property Dualism Argument. One
way it becomes concrete in this context is via the issue of whether in an identity
statement with different CMoPs there must be different MMoPs. That is, is the following
principle true?

D(CMoP) → D(MMoP): A difference in CMoPs in the two terms of an identity


statement entails a difference in MMoPs.
Prima facie, it seems that the D(CMoP) → D(MMoP) principle is false. Consider the
identity “the wet thing in the corner = the thing in the corner covered or soaked with H 2
O.” Suppose the CMoP associated with the left-hand side of the identity statement to be
the description “the wet thing in the corner.” Take the
end p.265

corresponding MMoP to be the property of being the wet thing in the corner.
Analogously for the right-hand side. But the property of being the wet thing in the
corner = the property of being the thing in the corner covered or soaked with H 2 O.
MMoP 1 = MMoP 2 . That is, there is only one MMoP, even though there are two
CMoPs.
Of course, a theorist who wishes to preserve the D(CMoP) → D(MMoP) principle,
seeing MMoPs as shadows of CMoPs, can postulate different, more finely grained quasi-
linguistic-cognitive MMoPs that are individuated according to the CMoPs. There is no
matter of fact here but only different notions of CMoP and MMoP geared to different
purposes. In the discussion to follow, I will focus on the cognitive significance purpose of
the CMoP/MMoP pair, since I think that rationale is the most favorable to the view I am
arguing against, that we must—that we are forced to—individuate MMoPs according to
CMoPs. 16
Consider the familiar “Paderewski” example. Our subject starts out under the false
impression that there were two Paderewskis at the turn of the twentieth century, a Polish
politician and a Polish composer. Later, he forgets where he learned the two homographic
names and remembers nothing about one Paderewski that distinguishes him from the
other. That is, he remembers only that both were famous Polish figures at the turn of the
twentieth century. Prima facie, the cognitive properties of the two uses of “Paderewski”
are the same. For the referent is the same and every property associated by the subject
with these terms is the same. However, there is a cognitive difference. We could give a
name to the relevant cognitive difference by saying that the subject has two “mental files”
corresponding to the two uses of “Paderewski.” We could regard the difference in mental
files as a semantic difference, or we could suppose that semantically the two uses of
“Paderewski” are the same, but that there is a need for something more than semantics—
something cognitive but nonsemantic—in individuating CMoPs. In either case, there are
two CMoPs but only one MMoP, the MMoP being, say, the property of being a famous
turn-of-the-twentieth-century Pole named “Paderewski.” Thus
“Paderewski = Paderewski” could be informative to this subject, despite identical
MMoPs for the two terms.
As Loar (1988) notes, Paderewski-type situations can arise for general terms even in
situations in which the subject associates the same description with the two uses of the
general term. An English speaker learns the term “chat” from a monolingual French
speaker who exhibits cats, and then is taught the term “chat” again by the same forgetful
teacher exhibiting the same cats. The student tacitly supposes that there are two senses of
“chat” which refer to creatures that are different in some respect that the student has not
noticed or perhaps in some respect that the student could not have noticed, something
biological beneath the surface that is not revealed in the way they look and act. We can
imagine that the student retains two
end p.266
separate mental files for “chat.” Each file has some way of specifying some observable
properties of chats, for example that they are furry, purr, are aloof, are called “chat.”
Most important, each of the files says that there are two kinds of creatures called “chat”:
chats in the current sense are not the same as chats in the other sense. So if the student
learns “this chat = this chat,” where the first “chat” is linked to one file, and the second is
linked to the other, that will be informative. It is certainly plausible that there are
different CMoPs, given that there are two mental files. But the MMoP associated with
both CMoPs would seem to be the same—being furry, purring, being aloof, and being
called “chat.” 17
It may be objected that there cannot be only one MMoP because explaining cognitive
significance requires postulating a difference somewhere; if the difference doesn't lie in
the MMoP of the referent, perhaps there are two different MMoPs of that MMoP, or two
different MMoPs of the MMoP of the MMoP of the referent. 18 But these higher order
MMoPs need not exist! The MMoP of chats in both senses of “chat” is something like
being one of two kinds of furry, purring, aloof pets with a certain look. There will not be
any further MMoP of that MMoP unless the subject happens to have a thought about the
first MMoP. What, then, explains the difference in cognitive significance between the
two “chats”? Answer: The difference in the CMoPs, the difference I have given a name to
with the locution of different mental files. Objection: “But that difference in CMoP must
correspond to a difference in MMoP!” To argue this way is simply to beg the question
against the idea that there can be two CMoPs but only one MMoP.
Objection: “But the cognitive difference between the two CMoPs has to correspond to a
difference in the world in order to be explanatory. For example, the subject will think,
‘The chat on my left is of a different kind from the chat on my right’.” Answer: No, the
example has been framed to rule out this kind of difference. The subject does not
remember any differences between the two kinds of chats, not even differences in the
situations in which he learned the terms.
It may seem that wherever there is a difference in CMoP, there has to be some difference
in MMoP of some kind, for otherwise how would the difference in CMoP ever arise?
Thus, corresponding to the different CMoPs “covered with water” and “covered with H 2
O,” one might imagine that “water” is learned or applied on the basis of properties such
as, for example, being a colorless, odorless, tasteless liquid coming out of the tap, and “H
2 O” is learned and applied on the basis of something learned in a chemistry class having
to do with hydrogen and oxygen. Similarly, one might say that in the “chat” case, there
must be some difference between the property
end p.267

instantiated in the first and second introductions of the word “chat” to the student. For
example, perhaps the first one was introduced on a cloudy day and the second on a sunny
day. Or at any rate, they were introduced at different times, and so there is a difference in
temporal MMoPs. For if there were no difference at all in the world, what would
explain—that is, explain as rational—why the subject thinks there are different referents?
But this reasoning is mistaken. Maybe there has to be some difference in properties in the
world that explain the arising of the different CMoPs, but that difference can fade away,
leaving no psychological trace. After the student learns the word “chat” twice, and tacitly
assumes that it applies to different animals, the student may forget all the specific facts
concerning the occasions of the learning of the two words, while still tacitly supposing
that things that fit “chat” in one sense do not fit it in the other. The ongoing use of two
cognitive representations corresponding to the two uses of “chat” do not require any
ongoing difference in MMoPs to be completely legitimate and rational. Likewise for the
“Paderewski” example. To suppose otherwise is to confuse ontogeny with metaphysics.
The following reply would fit the view of many dualists such as Chalmers and White:
But doesn't there have to be a possible world, different from the actual world, that the
subject rationally supposes he is in, in which the two CMoPs are CMoPs of different
referents? For the subject who believes there are two different Paderewskis, a musician
and a politician, the rationalizing world is a world that contains two persons named
“Paderewski,” both born around the turn of the century, one famous as a politician, the
other famous as a musician. Now in your version of the chat and Paderewski stories as
you tell them, you have eliminated all differences in specific properties available to the
subject. You have postulated that the subject does not believe that one is a politician and
the other is a musician—but the same strategy can be followed all the same. The world
that rationalizes the subject's view that there are two Paderewskis is a world in which
there are two persons named “Paderewski,” both Europeans born around the turn of the
century. The subject knows that there are bound to be many properties that distinguish
them (if only their spatial locations), and he can single out two properties in his
imagination, X and Y, such that one has property X but lacks Y, the other has property Y
but lacks X. If the subject were rationalizing his belief, he could appeal to X and Y, so
they can constitute his different MMoPs. One of his MMoPs, call it MMoP A is X; the
other, MMoP B = Y. The fact that the subject does not know what X and Y are does not
change the fundamental strategy of rationalizing the subject's error in which the cognitive
difference, CMoP A vs. CMoP B , requires a metaphysical difference, that between
MMoP A and MMoP B .
This territory will be familiar to those who have thought about modal arguments for
dualism. The dualist supposes that the conceivability of zombies justifies the claim that
there is a possible world in which there is a zombie, and that leads by a familiar route to
dualism. 19 The physicalist resists the argument from epistemology to metaphysics in
end p.268

that case, and the physicalist should resist it here as well. We can explain the erroneous
view that Paderewski is distinct from Paderewski by reference to epistemic possibilities
only: The epistemically possible situation (not a genuine metaphysically possible world)
in which, as one might say, Paderewski is not Paderewski. This is an epistemic situation
in which Paderewski—who has property X but not Y (and, as we the theorists might say,
is identical to the actual Paderewski)—is distinct from Paderewski, who has property Y
but not X (and who, as we the theorists might say, is also identical to the actual
Paderewski). Of course there is no such world, but this coherently describable epistemic
situation accurately reflects the subject's epistemic state. We need only this coherently
describable epistemic situation, not a genuine difference in properties in a genuinely
possible world. (I follow the common convention of calling a genuinely possible situation
a world and reserving “situation” for something that may or may not be possible.)
Likewise for the chat example. The rationality of error can be explained epistemically
with no need for metaphysics. This is a basic premise of this chapter, and it links the
physicalist position on the Property Dualism Arguments to the physicalist position with
regard to the Kripke-Chalmers modal arguments.
Given this principle, I believe that the Property Dualism Argument, the Knowledge
Argument, and the familiar modal arguments can be defanged, so the residual issue—not
discussed here—is whether this principle is right. Chalmers and White argue that genuine
worlds are needed to rationalize the subject's behavior, but I have not seen anything in
which they argue against situations as rationalizers.
In my view, the issue I have been discussing is the key issue concerning all forms of the
Property Dualism Argument (and some modal arguments for dualism as well). If the
D(CMoP) → D(MMoP) principle does not come up in some form or other, the main issue
has been skipped.
There is one reason for the view that a difference in CMoPs entails a difference in
MMoPs that I have not yet mentioned and will not go into in detail until the “thin/thick”
section at the end of the chapter: the view that MMoPs must be thin in the sense of
having no hidden essence in order to account for their role in determining reference and
explaining cognitive significance.
Of course, as before, those who prefer to see MMoPs as shadows of CMoPs can think of
the property of being a chat (relative to the link to one mental file) as distinct from the
property of being a chat (relative to the link to the other mental file). That is, the MMoP
would be individuated according to the corresponding CMoP to preserve one-to-one
correspondence. According to me, one can individuate MMoPs as shadows of CMoPs—
or not—but as we will see, the Property Dualist has to insist on individuating MMoPs as
shadows of CMoPs.
What about the converse of the cases we have been talking about—one CMoP, two
MMoPs? People often use one mental representation very differently in different
circumstances without having any awareness of the difference. Aristotle famously used
the Greek word we translate with “velocity” ambiguously, to denote both instantaneous
velocity and, in other circumstances, average velocity. He did not appear to see the
difference. And the Florentine “Experimenters” of the seventeenth century used a term
translated as “degree of heat” ambiguously to denote heat and a very different magnitude,
temperature. Some of their measuring procedures for detecting “degree of heat” measured
heat, and some measured temperature (Block and Dworkin
end p.269

1974). For example, one test of the magnitude of “degree of heat” was whether a given
object would melt paraffin. This test measured whether the temperature was above the
melting point of paraffin. Another test was the amount of ice an object would melt. This
measured amount of heat (Wiser and Carey 1983). One could treat these cases as one
CMoP which refers via different MMoPs, depending on context. Alternatively, one could
treat the difference in context determining the difference in CMoP, preserving the one-to-
one correspondence. This strategy would postulate a CMoP difference that was not
available from the first-person point of view, imposed on the basis of a difference in the
world. That is, it would take a conceptual revolution for theorists of heat phenomena to
see a significant difference between their two uses of “degree of heat,” so the cognitive
difference was not one that they could be aware of, given their conceptual scheme. A
CMoP difference that is not available to the subject is not acceptable for purposes that
emphasize the relevance of the CMoP to the first person.
In what follows, I will assume the existence of independently individuated CMoPs and
MMoPs. However, at one crucial point in the dialectic, I will examine whether
individuating MMoPs according to CMoPs makes any difference to the argument,
concluding that it does not. Why does it matter whether or not there is a one-to-one
correspondence between CMoPs and MMoPs? I will now turn to a member of the family
of property dualism arguments that turns on this issue. The argument of the next section,
or something much like it, has been termed “the property dualism argument” by McGinn
(2001), though I think a somewhat different argument is more closely related to what
Smart, Perry, and White have in mind, what I will call the “orthodox” property dualism
argument. The two arguments depend on nearly the same issues.

E → 2M Version of the Property Dualism Argument

Saul Kripke (1972) argued for dualism as follows. Identities, if true, are necessarily true.
But cases of mind without brain and brain without mind are possible, so mind-brain
identity is not necessary, and therefore is not true. 20 A standard physicalist response is
that the mind-body relation is necessary, but appears, misleadingly, to be contingent:
there is an “illusion of contingency.” Most of the discussion of an illusion of contingency
has focused on the mental side of the identity statement, but Richard Boyd (1980) noted
that one way for a physicalist to explain the illusion of contingency of “Q = cortico-
thalamic oscillation” would be to exploit the gap between cortico-thalamic oscillation and
its mode of presentation. When we appear to be conceiving of Q without the appropriate
cortico-thalamic oscillation (e.g., a disembodied mind or a version of spectrum
inversion), all we are managing to conceive is Q in a situation in which we are misled by
our mode of epistemic access to cortico-thalamic oscillation. What we are implicitly
conceiving, perhaps, is a situation in which our functional magnetic resonance scanner is
broken. So the physicalist is free to insist that cortico-thalamic oscillation is part of
end p.270

what one conceives in conceiving of Q, albeit not explicitly, and, conversely, Q is part of
what one conceives in conceiving of cortico-thalamic oscillation.
But the sole reason for believing in implicit commitment to epistemic failure, such as
failing brain measurement devices in these thought experiments, is that it avoids the
nonphysicalist conclusion, and that is not a very good reason. The conceivability of
zombies, inverted spectra, disembodied minds, and so on, does not seem on the surface to
depend on implicit conceptions of malfunctioning apparatus. For example, it would seem
that one could conceive of the brain and its cortico-thalamic oscillation “neat” (as in
whiskey served without ice or water)—that is, without conceiving of any particular
apparatus for measuring cortico-thalamic oscillation.
However, the idea that one can conceive of cortico-thalamic oscillation “neat” is useful
not just in combating Boyd's objection to Kripke's argument for dualism but also in a
distinct positive argument for dualism. 21
Consider an empirical mind-body property identity claim in which both terms of the
identity—not just the mental term—have MMoPs that are identical to the referent.
(MMoPs are, of course, properties, and we are thinking of the referents of mind-body
identity claims as properties as well.) McGinn (2001) claims, albeit in other terms, that
this would be true for a standard physicalist mind-body identity claim. “It is quite clear
that the way of thinking of C-fiber firing that is associated with ‘C-fiber firing’ is simply
that of having the property of C-fiber firing,” he writes. “It connotes what it denotes”
(294). Is cortico-thalamic oscillation or potassium ion flow across a membrane its own
metaphysical mode of presentation? That depends on what a metaphysical mode of
presentation is supposed to be, and that depends on the purpose we have for them. I have
mentioned three different conceptions of MMoPs, (1) explaining cognitive significance,
(2) determining the referent and (3) a priori graspability (on the basis of understanding
the term it is the MMoP of).
Suppose we took explaining cognitive significance as primary. How can we explain why
“cortico-thalamic oscillation = cortico-thalamic oscillation” is less informative than
“Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation”? Do we need to appeal to an MMoP of being cortico-
thalamic oscillation for “cortico-thalamic oscillation”? First, if the identity is true, it is
not clear that an MMoP of being cortico-thalamic oscillation is of any use. For if the
MMoP of Q is being Q, then the MMoP of the left-hand side would be the same as for the
right-hand side for both the trivial and the cognitively significant identity. Moreover,
other MMoPs can explain the difference in cognitive significance. For example, a
scientist might conceive of Q from the first-person point of view but think of cortico-
thalamic oscillation in terms of the machinery required to detect it. A scientist might even
think of it perceptually, in terms of the experience in the observer engendered by the
apparatus, as radiologists often say they do in the case of CAT scans.
end p.271

Suppose instead that we take the special reference-fixing authority as the raison d'être of
the MMoP. This conception has the advantage that if we have given the special
reference-fixing authority to an MMoP, then it is a priori graspable that the referent, if it
exists, has that property (Byrne and Pryor 2006). Again, it is not very plausible that the
MMoP of “cortico-thalamic oscillation” or “potassium ion flow” is being cortico-
thalamic oscillation or being potassium ion flow. What would be the point of giving the
special reference-fixing authority for “cortico-thalamic oscillation” to the property of
being cortico-thalamic oscillation? (Recall that uniquely determining the referent is not
enough for reference fixing—the subject has to also have decided [even if implicitly] that
that uniqueness property governs the term, as noted by Byrne and Pryor.)
But there is a kind of mind-body identity in which the right-hand term does more
plausibly have an MMoP in both the cognitive significance and the reference-fixing sense
that is identical to the referent (or at any rate has the relation of being X to X), namely a
mental-functional identity claim. I will skip the cognitive significance rationale, focusing
on determination of reference. What is our way of fixing reference to the property of
being caused by A and B and causing C and D if not that property itself (or the property
of having that property itself): that is, being caused by A and B and causing C and D? For
many complex functional properties, it is hard to imagine any other reference-fixing
property that could be taken very seriously, since it is hard to see how such functional
properties could be singled out without singling out each of the causal relations. Further,
the functional property would be plausibly a priori graspable on the basis of a typical
concept of it. These considerations suggest that a mental-functional identity claim is a
better candidate for the kind of identity claim being discussed here than is the standard
mental-physical identity claim.
Since the candidate identity claim has to be plausibly empirical, let us think of the
physical side as a psychofunctional property (see Block 1978, which introduced this
term), that is, a functional property that embeds detailed empirical information that can
be discovered only empirically. For example, we can take the functional definition to
include the Weber-Fechner Law (which dictates a logarithmic relation between stimulus
intensity and perceptual intensity). To remind us that we are taking the right-hand side of
the identity to be a psychofunctional property, let us represent it as “PF.”
Let our sample mind-body identity be “Q = PF,” where as before, “Q” denotes a
phenomenal property. As before, let us use “M” for the metaphysical mode of
presentation of Q, and let us assume that M = being Q. Ex hypothesi, the metaphysical
mode of presentation of PF is being PF. But since M = being Q, and the MMoP of
PF = being PF, if the identity is true (Q = PF), it follows that the MMoPs of both sides
are the same. (See fig. 12.1.) But if the MMoPs of both sides are the same, then
(supposedly) the identity cannot be a posteriori. Here I assume the principle that an
empirical identity must have distinct MMoPs for the two sides of the identity. Call that
Empirical → 2MMoP, or E → 2M for short. That would show that the original a
posteriori identity claim—which embeds, you will recall, the Weber-Fechner Law and so
cannot be supposed to be a priori—cannot be true. Psychofunctionalism is thus refuted
(or so it may seem).
end p.272
Figure 12.1: Empirical? 2MMoP Argument for DualismMMoP (i.e. metaphysical mode
of presentation) of Q = being Q, MMoP of PF = being PF, so if it is true that Q = PF,
then the MMoP of PF = the MMoP of Q. But if the two MMoPs are the same, the identity
is supposed to be a priori. However, since the identity is not a priori, the argument
concludes, it is not true. The vertical ‘=’ signs represent the relation between X and being
X.

The upshot would be that if we want a functionalist mind-body identity thesis, it can only
be a priori (in which case deflationism—in the sense of conceptual reductionism about
consciousness—holds). Or if we reject deflationism, the upshot is that functionalist mind-
body identity is false (i.e., the relevant form of dualism is true). So the conclusion is the
same as that of the Property Dualism Argument, but restricted to functionalist mind-body
identity claims: only dualism and deflationism are viable.
Why accept the E → 2M Principle? Suppose that different CMoPs for the two terms of
the identity entail different MMoPs (i.e., the D(CMoP) → D(MMoP) principle). An
empirical identity requires different CMoPs, since, it may be said (but see below), if two
of one's terms have the same cognitive significance, that fact is a priori available to the
subject. An empirical identity requires different CMoPs, different CMoPs require
different MMoPs, so an empirical identity requires different MMoPs. It would follow that
an empirical identity requires different MMoPs. This is one way of seeing why the
considerations of the last section about the one-to-one correspondence between CMoPs
and MMoPs matter for dualism. 22
You will not be surprised to learn that my objection to the argument is to the E → 2M
Principle and the claim that different CMoPs require different MMoPs
end p.273

that engenders the E → 2M Principle. As I mentioned, a priority is better taken to be a


matter of sameness of CMoPs, not a matter of sameness of MMoPs. In the example given
above, before the subject learns that there is only one kind of creature called “chat,” he
has two CMoPs but only one MMoP. 23
The argument could be resuscitated if the CMoP of each side were identical to the
referent. But at least on the right-hand side, this seems like a category mistake: our
concept of a psychofunctional state (or something cognitive about it) is a poor candidate
for identity with the psychofunctional state itself.
In comments on this chapter, David Chalmers suggested a variant of the E → 2M
Argument. Instead of “Q = PF,” consider “Q = P,” where P is a physical property.
Assume the E → 2M Principle—that an empirical identity must have distinct MMoPs for
the two sides of the identity. If “Q = P” is empirical, then it follows that the MMoP of Q
is distinct from any MMoP of a physical property. For if the MMoP of P is just P and the
MMoP of Q is just Q, and since the E → 2M principle requires that the two MMoPs be
distinct, it follows by transitivity of identity that Q must be distinct from P, and so
dualism is true.
My objections to this variant are, as before:
1.The argument assumes the E → 2M principle in the first step, in which it is argued that
the MMoP of Q is distinct from any MMoP of any physical property, and as mentioned
above, I reject the E → 2M principle.

2.The argument presupposes the view that it is reasonable to take the MMoP of a
physical property, P, to be just P itself. (It would be better to take it to be being P, but I
will ignore this glitch.) As I emphasized above, I find this doubtful for physical
properties, although more plausible for functional properties. So at most, the argument
is an argument against empirical functionalism (psychofunctionalism) rather than
against physicalism.

Back to Stating the Orthodox Property Dualism Argument

The E → 2M argument raises many of the same issues as, but is not quite the same as, the
argument that Smart, Perry, and White are talking about.
To frame the orthodox Property Dualism Argument, we need to use a contrast between
deflationism and phenomenal realism about consciousness. 24 In its strong
end p.274

form, deflationism is conceptual reductionism concerning concepts of consciousness.


More generally, deflationism says that a priori or at least armchair analyses of
consciousness (or at least armchair sufficient conditions) can be given in nonphenomenal
terms, most prominently in terms of representation, thought, or function. 25 (If the
analyses are physicalistic, then deflationism is a form of what Chalmers (1996) calls
type-A physicalism.) The deflationist says phenomenal properties and states do exist, but
that commitment is “deflated” by an armchair analysis that reduces the commitment. The
conclusion of the orthodox Property Dualism Argument is that physicalism and
phenomenal realism are incompatible: the phenomenal realist must be a dualist, and the
physicalist must be a deflationist.
In what follows, I will drop the term “orthodox” and refer to the argument I am spelling
out simply as the Property Dualism Argument.
The Property Dualism Argument in the form in which I will elaborate it depends on
listing all the leading candidates for the nature of the MMoP of the mental side. My
emphasis on the MMoP at the expense of the CMoP is artificial but has some dialectical
advantages. The metaphenomenal move is what is really being explored, the view that
with the statement of mind-body identity, either or both of the MMoP or the CMoP
brings in unreducible phenomenality. Most of the issues that come up with respect to the
MMoP could also have been discussed with respect to the CMoP. In rebutting the
Property Dualism Argument, I will go back to the CMoP occasionally.
Recall that the phenomenal side (which I will always put on the left side of the sentence
on the page) of the identity is Q. Let the metaphysical mode of presentation of Q be M
(for mental, metaphysical and mode of presentation). The basic idea of the Property
Dualism Argument is that even if Q is physical, there is a problem about the physicality
of M. I will discuss five proposals for the nature of M. M might be (one or more of) the
following:

1. mental
2. physical
3. nonphysical
4. topic-neutral, or
5. nonexistent (i.e., the reference is “direct” in one sense of the term)

Here is a brief summary of the form of the argument. Proposal 1 is correct, but it's useless
because both the physicalist and the dualist will agree on it. The problem for the
physicalist is to show how M can be both physical and mental. Proposal 2 is (supposed to
be) ruled out by the arguments given below, which will be the main topic of the rest of
this chapter. Proposal 5 changes the subject by stipulating a version of the original
property identity “Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation” in which Q is not picked out by a
genuine phenomenal concept. So the remaining options are the dualist option (3), and the
topic-neutral option (4). White (1986) argues that option 4 is deflationist, reasoning as
follows: The topic-neutral
end p.275

properties that are relevant to the mind-body problem are functional properties. If M, the
metaphysical mode of presentation of Q, is a topic-neutral and therefore (according to
White) functional property, then that could only be because the phenomenal concept has
an a priori functional analysis. For example, the concept of pain might be the concept of a
state that is caused by tissue damage and that causes certain reactions, including
interactions with other mental states. But an a priori functional analysis is deflationist by
definition. The upshot is supposed to be that only proposals 3 and 4 remain; 3 is dualist
and 4 is deflationist. The conclusion of the Property Dualism Argument is that we must
choose between dualism and deflationism: phenomenal realist physicalism is not tenable.
Of course, the argument as I have presented it makes the title “Property Dualism
Argument” look misguided. Anyone who does take the argument to argue for dualism
would presumably want to add an argument against deflationism. However, Smart and
Armstrong (1968) (and in a more convoluted version, David Lewis (1980)) used the
argument the other way around: the threat of dualism was brought in to argue for
deflationism. Their view is that “pain” contingently picks out a physical state, for “pain”
is a nonrigid designator whose sense is the item with such and such functional role. But
the view that stands behind this picture is that the nature of the mental is given a priori as
functional. “Pain” is a nonrigid designator, but what it is to have pain, that which cases of
pain all share in virtue of which they are pains, is a certain functional property, and that
functional property can be rigidly designated by, for example, the phrase “having pain.”
26
So the view is a version of deflationism.
White (1986) added an antidualist premise to the argument whose conclusion is dualism
or deflationism, but in White (2006) and his chapter for this book (chap. 11), he drops
that premise, arguing instead for dualism. My own point of view, the view I'm arguing
for in this chapter, is phenomenal realist and physicalist, the very combination that the
Property Dualism Argument purports to rule out. (Though see Block 2002 for a different
kind of doubt about this combination.) As we will see when I get to the critique of the
Property Dualism Argument, the argument fares better as an argument for dualism than
for deflationism, so the name of the argument is appropriate.
There are some well-known problems concerning the notion of a physical property. 27 But
not all philosophy concerned with physicalism can be about the problem
end p.276

of how to formulate physicalism. For some purposes, physicalism is clear enough. 28 In


particular, the debate about the Property Dualism Argument seems relatively insensitive
to issues about what exactly physicalism comes to. (If not, that is an objection to what
follows.)
I will take the notions of physicalistic vocabulary and mentalistic vocabulary to be
unproblematic. A physical property is a property canonically expressible in physicalistic
vocabulary. (I won't try to explain “canonically.”) For example, the property of being
water is a physical property because that property = the property of being H 2 O. The
predicate “___ is H 2 O” is a predicate of physics (or anyway physical science), the
property of being H 2 O is expressed by that predicate, and so is the property of being
water, since they are the same property. (Note that the relation of “expression” is distinct
from referring.) A mentalistic property is a property canonically expressible in
mentalistic vocabulary. “___ is a pain” is a mentalistic predicate and thus expresses (or
connotes) a mental property (that of being a pain). A nonphysical property is a property
that is not canonically expressible in physicalistic vocabulary. (So physicalism dictates
that mental properties are canonically expressible in both physicalistic and mentalistic
vocabularies.) I don't know if these notions can ultimately be spelled out in a satisfactory
manner, but this is another of the cluster of issues involved in defining physicalism that
not every work concerning physicalism can be about.
Smart said that a topic-neutral analysis of a property term entails neither that the property
is physical nor that it is nonphysical. It would not do to say that a
end p.277

topic-neutral property is expressible in neither physicalistic nor nonphysicalistic terms,


because if physicalistic terms and nonphysicalistic terms are all the terms there are, there
will be no such properties. The key kind of topic-neutral property for present purposes is
a functional property, a second-order property that consists in the having of certain other
properties that are related to one another (causally and otherwise) and to inputs and
outputs, all specified nonmentalistically. One could say that a topic-neutral property is
one that is expressible in terms of logic, causation, and non-mentalistically specified
input-output language. The question may arise as to whether these terms are to be
counted as part of physicalistic vocabulary or not. But for my purposes here, I will leave
that issue undecided.
I will briefly sketch each of the proposals mentioned above for the nature of M (the
metaphysical mode of presentation of Q, which was introduced in the sample identity
“Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation”) from the point of view of the Property Dualism
Argument, adding some critical comments at a few places. Then, after a section on
phenomenal concepts, I will rebut the Property Dualism Argument.

Proposal 1. M is Mental

If M is mental, then the same issue of physicalism arises for M, the metaphysical mode of
presentation of Q, which arises for Q itself. It isn't that this proposal is false, but rather
that it presents a challenge to the physicalist of showing how it could be true.

Proposal 2. M is Physical

The heart of the Property Dualism Argument is the claim that M cannot be physical. I
will discuss three arguments for that claim. 29 The first proceeds as follows. If M is
physical, it will not account for cognitive significance; specifically, it will not account for
the informativeness of identities and the possibility of rational error. For example,
suppose the subject rationally believes that Q is instantiated here and now but that
cortico-thalamic oscillation is absent. He experiences Q but also has evidence
(misleading evidence, according to the physicalist) that cortico-thalamic oscillation is
absent. We can explain rational error by appeal to two different MMoPs of the referent,
only one of which is manifest. Let us take the metaphysical mode of presentation of the
right-hand side of the mind-body identity “Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation” to be a
matter of the instrumentation that detects cortico-thalamic oscillation. We can think of
this instrumentation as keyed to the oxygen uptake by neural activity. (Functional
magnetic resonance is a form of brain imaging that detects brain activity via sensitivity to
metabolism of the oxygen that feeds brain activity.)
The focus of this argument is on the left-hand side, the metaphysical mode of
presentation of Q, namely M. According to the argument, if M is physical, it cannot serve
the purpose of explaining rational error. For, to explain rational error, we require a
metaphysical mode of presentation that makes rational sense of the subject's point of
view. But the physical nature of M is not available to the subject. (The subject can be
presumed to know nothing of the physical nature of M.) The problem could be solved if
there was a mental mode of presentation of M itself,
end p.278

call it “M*.” But this is the first step in a regress in which a physical metaphysical mode
of presentation is itself presented by a mental metaphysical mode of presentation. For the
same issue that arose for M will arise all over again for M*. Explaining rational error
requires two modes of presentation, the manifestation of which is available to the first
person at some level or other, so postulating a physical metaphysical mode of
presentation just takes out an explanatory loan that has to be paid back at the level of
modes of presentation of modes of presentation … , and so on. The upshot is that
physical metaphysical modes of presentation do not pass the test imposed by one of the
stipulated purposes of metaphysical modes of presentation.
There is also a related non-regress argument: if M is physical, a subject could believe he
is experiencing Q, yet not believe he is in a state that has M. But there can be no
epistemic gap of this sort between the metaphysical mode of presentation of a
phenomenal property and the property itself.
Another argument that M cannot be physical is given by White (1986). He notes,
plausibly enough, that
Since there is no physicalistic description that one could plausibly suppose is
coreferential a priori with an expression like “Smith's pain at t,” no physical property of a
pain (i.e., a brain state of type X) could provide the route by which it was picked out by
such an expression. (1986: 353; 1997: 706)
Or in the terms of this chapter, there is no physicalistic description that one could
plausibly suppose is coreferential a priori with a mentalistic expression such as “Q”, so
no physical property could provide the route by which it was picked out by such an
expression. The property that provides the route by which Q is picked out by “Q” is just
the metaphysical mode of presentation (on one way of understanding that term) of Q, that
is, M. So the upshot is supposed to be that M cannot be physical because there is no
physicalistic description that is coreferential a priori with a phenomenal term.
A third argument that M cannot be physical is that MMoPs must be “thin.” We can take a
thin property to be one that has no hidden essence. “Thick” properties include Putnamian
natural kinds such as water. According to the property dualist, the explanatory purpose of
MMoPs precludes thick properties serving as modes of presentation. For, it might be said,
it is not all of a thick property that explains rational error but only an aspect of it. The
same conclusion can be reached if one stipulates that the MMoP is a priori available on
the basis of the CMoP. Since hidden essences are never available a priori, hidden
essences cannot be part of MMoPs. I will indicate later how the claim that MMoPs must
be thin can be used to argue against the phenomenal realist physicalist position. This
consideration can also be used to bolster the regress argument and the argument of the
last paragraph.
I said earlier that the standard reply to Jackson's argument attempts to substitute a
dualism of concepts for a
end p.279

dualism of properties and facts. And then I noted that the objection that is exploited by
both the Knowledge Argument and the Property Dualism Argument is that the dualism of
concepts is held to require a dualism of properties and facts. Thin MMoPs are in effect
individuated according to the corresponding CMoPs. So the attempt to substitute a
dualism of concepts for a dualism of properties and facts is opposed by the claim that
properties and facts should be individuated according to concepts, and so if Mary
acquires a new concept, she acquires a concept that involves new properties and facts.
Earlier I discussed the D(CMoP) → D(MMoP) principle, suggesting that there could be
cases of two CMoPs with the same MMoP. One example was the identity “the thing in
the corner covered with water = the thing in the corner covered with H 2 O.” The CMoP
associated with the left-hand side is the description “the thing in the corner covered with
water,” and the corresponding MMoP is the property of being the thing in the corner
covered with water. Analogously for the right-hand side. But the property of being the
thing in the corner covered with water = the property of being the thing in the corner
covered with H 2 O, so there is only one MMoP. But if MMoPs cannot be “thick,” being
covered with water cannot be an MMoP. The relevant MMoP would have to be some sort
of stripped down version of being covered with water that does not have a hidden
essence. 30
These three arguments are the heart of the orthodox Property Dualism Argument. I regard
the three arguments as appealing to MMoPs in different senses of the term, and when I
critique these three arguments later, I will make that point more explicitly. In my critique,
I will argue that two of the arguments do not stand on their own, but rather presuppose
the third (“thick/thin”) argument. Then I will examine that argument.

Proposal 3. M is Nonphysical

If M is nonphysical, dualism is true. So this proposal will not preserve the compatibility
of phenomenal realism with physicalism and will not be considered further here.

Proposal 4. M is Topic-Neutral

In effect, I covered this topic earlier in my discussion of Perry. A genuinely phenomenal


concept is required for getting the Property Dualism Argument (and the Mary argument)
off the ground, so a topic-neutral concept will not do.

Proposal 5. There Is No M: The Relation between Q and Its Referent Is “Direct” in One
Sense of the Term

A phenomenal concept is a phenomenal way of thinking of a phenomenal property.


Phenomenal properties can be thought about using nonphenomenal concepts of them, for
example, the concept of the property occurring at 5 p.m . As I've said, the Property
Dualism Argument requires a phenomenal concept in my sense of the
end p.280

term, and so if the mind-body identity at issue does not make use of a phenomenal
concept, the property dualist will simply substitute a mind–body identity that does make
use of a phenomenal concept. Of course, if it could be shown that there could not be any
phenomenal concepts, then the Property Dualism Argument will fail. But I believe in
phenomenal concepts and so will not discuss this view further.
Phenomenal concepts are often said to refer “directly,” but what this is often taken to
mean in philosophy of mind discussions is not that there is no metaphysical mode of
presentation, but rather that the metaphysical mode of presentation is a necessary
property of the referent.
Loar (1990) says:
Given a normal background of cognitive capacities, certain recognitional or
discriminative dispositions suffice for having specific recognitional concepts. … A
recognitional concept may involve the ability to class together, to discriminate, things
that have a given objective property. Say that if a recognitional concept is related thus to
a property, the property triggers applications of the concept. Then the property that
triggers the concept is the semantic value or reference of the concept; the concept directly
refers to the property, unmediated by a higher order reference-fixer. 31
Consider the view that a phenomenal concept is simply a recognitional concept
understood as Loar suggests, whose object is a phenomenal property that is a physical
property. I don't know if this would count as a concept that has no metaphysical mode of
presentation at all, but certainly it has no phenomenal metaphysical mode of presentation,
and so is not a phenomenal concept in the sense required for the Property Dualism
Argument. For one can imagine a case of totally unconscious triggering of a concept by a
stimulus or by a brain state. As Loar notes, there could be an analog of blindsight in
which a self-directed recognitional concept is triggered blankly, without any phenomenal
accompaniment. (Of course this need not be the case—the brain property doing the
triggering could itself be phenomenal, or else the concept triggered could be phenomenal.
In either case, phenomenality would have to be involved in the triggering of the concept.)
And for this reason, Loar (1990: 98; 1997: 603) argues, a phenomenal concept is not
merely a self-directed recognitional concept.
To sum up, the central idea of the Property Dualism Argument (and the Knowledge
Argument) is the metaphenomenal move, the idea that in thinking about a phenomenal
property, a further phenomenal property must be brought in as part of the CMoP or with
the MMoP and that this further phenomenal property poses a special problem for
physicalism because of its connection to a mode of presentation. There are three
functions of modes of presentation on one or another conception of them that putatively
lead to this resistance to physicalism: explaining
end p.281

cognitive significance, determining reference, and providing a priori availability on the


basis of understanding the term.
The Property Dualism Argument says that in the identity “Q = cortico-thalamic
oscillation,” the metaphysical mode of presentation of Q (viz., M) must be either mental,
or physical, or nonphysical, or topic-neutral, or “direct,” in which case there is no
metaphysical mode of presentation. The mental proposal is supposed to be useless. The
physical proposal is supposed to be ruled out because there is no a priori available
physicalistic description of Q, thanks to supposed regress, and because the metaphysical
mode must be “thin.” The “direct reference” proposal appears to be ruled out by the fact
that the concept of Q needed to get the argument off the ground is a phenomenal concept
with a phenomenal metaphysical mode of presentation. So the only proposals for M that
are left standing are the nonphysical and topic-neutral proposals. The topic-neutral
proposal involves a form of deflationism. So the ultimate metaphysical choice according
to the Property Dualism Argument is between deflationism and dualism. The upshot is
that the phenomenal realist cannot be a physicalist. The argument is a way of making the
metaphenomenal move described earlier concrete: the statement of a mind-body identity
claim is supposed to be self-defeating because the MMoP (or the CMoP—but I have
focused on the MMoP) of the phenomenal term of the identity is supposed to bring in
unreducible phenomenality. The only way to avoid that unreducible phenomenality is to
give a deflationist analysis; the alternative is dualism.
Objections Concerning Phenomenal Concepts

The notion of phenomenal concept that I've used is based on the observation that there is
a fundamental exercise of it in which a token of a phenomenal property can serve in
thought to represent a phenomenal property. In such a case, there is a phenomenal
property that is part of the CMoP. There is a special case that I mentioned earlier in
which a token of a phenomenal property can serve in thought to represent that very
phenomenal property. In such a case, the phenomenal property does double duty: as part
of the concept and also as the referent of that concept. Before I go on to rebut the
Property Dualism Argument, I will briefly consider two objections to this conception of a
phenomenal concept.

Objection (put to me by Kirk Ludwig): I can truly think, “I am not having an experience
as of red now,” using a phenomenal concept of that experience, but that would not be
possible on your view of what phenomenal concepts are.

Reply: Ludwig is right that one can truly think, “I am not having a red experience now,”
using a phenomenal concept of that experience. As I mentioned, a phenomenal concept
has nonfundamental uses in which there is nothing phenomenal going on in the exercise
of the concept. But even in one of the fundamental uses in which a token of an experience
as of red is being used to represent that experience, it is possible to think a false thought
to the effect that one is not having that experience. For example, one might set oneself to
think something that is manifestly false, saying to oneself, “I am not having an
experience as of red now,”
end p.282

using a phenomenal concept—in my heavy-duty sense of phenomenal concept—of the


experience.

Objection: On your view, a phenomenal property does double duty—it is the referent but
also is part of the mode of presentation of that referent. But if physicalism is true, cortico-
thalamic oscillation would be part of its own mode of presentation. Does that really make
sense?

Reply: The claim is not that the right-hand side of the identity “Q = cortico-thalamic
oscillation” has an associated mode of presentation (CMoP or MMoP) that involves
cortico-thalamic oscillation. I have been supposing that the modes of presentation of the
right-hand side have to do with the physical properties of oxygen metabolism that are
exploited by scanning technology. Modes of presentation—both cognitive and
metaphysical—are modes of presentation associated with terms or the concepts
associated with the terms, and the identity involves two terms. There is no conflict with
the indiscernibility of identicals if one keeps use and mention distinct. That is, cortico-
thalamic oscillation is part of its own mode of presentation only as picked out by the
phenomenal concept of it. 32
end p.283

Critique of the Property Dualism Argument

The Property Dualism Argument says that the metaphysical mode of presentation of Q,
namely M, cannot be physical (using the identity “Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation” as an
example). I mentioned three (subsidiary) arguments to that effect, a regress argument, an
argument concerning a priori availability, and an argument based on the thin/thick
distinction. I also mentioned three different raisons d'être of modes of presentation, each
of which could be used with respect to any of the three arguments, yielding, in principle,
nine distinct arguments—even eighteen if one counts the CMoP/MMoP dimension—
making refutation potentially unmanageable. I will try to finesse this multiplicity by
taking the strongest form of each argument, and bringing in the other raisons d'être as
they are relevant. (I have already mentioned my focus on the MMoP in most of the
argument at the expense of the CMoP.) The exposition of the argument has been long,
but the critique will be much shorter. As we will see, the first two arguments do not really
stand alone, but require the thin/thick argument. My critique of the thin/thick argument is
aimed at depriving the conclusion of support rather than outright refutation.

Regress

The first argument mentioned earlier against the physical proposal is a regress argument.
The idea is that if M is physical, it cannot account for cognitive significance
(informativeness). For example, suppose the subject rationally believes that he has Q but
not cortico-thalamic oscillation. As noted earlier, there can be rational error in supposing
A is present without B when in fact A = B. That error can be explained if, at a minimum,
there is a metaphysical mode of presentation of A, MMoP A and a metaphysical mode of
presentation of B, MMoP B , such that MMoP A is manifest, and MMoP B is not.
Applied to the case at hand, the physicalist thesis that Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation, let
us assume that the MMoP of “cortico-thalamic oscillation” is the one mentioned earlier
having to do with oxygen uptake by neural processes that affects a brain scanner. It is the
other metaphysical mode of presentation that is problematic: M, the metaphysical mode
of presentation of the left-hand side of the identity. The property dualist says that if M is
physical, then M cannot account for cognitive significance because the subject need have
no access to that physical description just by virtue of being the subject of that
metaphysical mode of presentation. The problem could be solved if there was a mental
mode of presentation of M itself, call it “M*.” But this is the first step in a regress in
which a metaphysical mode of presentation that is physical is itself presented by a
metaphysical mode of presentation that is mental. For the same issue will arise for M*
that arose for M. Accounting for the different cognitive significances of the two sides of
an identity statement requires two modes of presentation that are available to the first
person at some level or other, so postulating a physical metaphysical mode of
presentation just takes out an explanatory loan that has to be paid back
end p.284

at the level of modes of presentation of modes of presentation, and modes of … and so


on.
This argument begs the question. It supposes that if M is physical, it could not serve to
account for cognitive significance, since accounting for cognitive significance requires a
mental MMoP. But the physicalist thesis is that M is both mental and physical, so the
physicalist will not be concerned by the argument. 33 Thus, the regress argument in the
form I described is like the old objection to physicalism that says that brain states involve
the instantiation of electrochemical properties, but since pain does not involve the
instantiation of such properties, pain can't be a brain state.
Of course, if MMoPs must be thin, then M, which is an MMoP, cannot have a hidden
physical nature, and so it cannot be both mental and physical. But if that is the claim, the
regress argument depends on the “thick/thin” argument to be discussed below, and it does
not stand on its own.
I assumed that the MMoP of “cortico-thalamic oscillation” is unproblematic, having to
do, for example, with oxygen metabolism as a result of brain activity. But the property
dualist may say that this MMoP does not uniquely determine the referent and need not be
a property to which the subject has given a special reference-fixing authority. (I will use
the phrase “fixes the referent” to mean uniquely determines the referent and has been
given the special authority.) Why is this a reply to my point concerning the question-
begging nature of the regress argument? The question arises: if the regress argument's
appeal to cognitive significance requires an MMoP for “cortico-thalamic oscillation” that
does fix the referent, what would that MMoP be? Someone could argue that that MMoP
could only be the property being cortico-thalamic oscillation itself. And then it could be
claimed that both sides of the identity statement are such that the MMoP of that side is
identical with the referent. And this may be said to lead to dualism via the route
canvassed earlier in the section on the E → 2M Argument. (If the MMoP of the right-
hand side of an identity of the form X = Y is being Y, and the MMoP of the left-hand
side is being X, then, if it is true that X = Y, if follows that being X = being Y, so the
MMoPs of the two sides are the same. The E → 2M argument goes on to conclude that
the identity must therefore be a priori if true, so therefore false.) I will not go into the
matter again, except to note that it cannot be assumed that a property of the referent that
accounts for cognitive significance also fixes the referent, and what counts in this
argument is cognitive significance. As Burge (1977) and Byrne and Pryor (2006) note, it
is easy to see that properties of the referent that account for cognitive significance need
not fix the referent. As Burge says, the determination of reference depends on all sorts of
nonconceptual contextual factors that “go beyond what the thinker ‘grasps’ in thought”
(358). Byrne and Pryor give the example that being a raspy-voiced singer may give the
cognitive significance for “Bob Dylan,” even though there are other raspy-voiced
end p.285
singers. And being a raspy-voiced singer need only be a property that the subject saliently
associates with the referent, not a property to which the subject has given the special
authority. 34 (This, incidentally, is the one point at which I appeal to general
considerations about whether the three raisons d'être for modes of presentation mentioned
earlier go together.)
In sum, the regress argument depends on the “thin/thick” argument and does not stand
alone.
To avoid confusion, let me just briefly mention something the Property Dualism
Argument is not. Someone might ask the question, In the identity “A = B,” how does one
think of the metaphysical mode of presentation of A, MMoP A ? Doesn't one need a
metaphysical mode of presentation of MMoP A , which we could call MMoP A *? And
another of that, MMoP A **? And the series won't end without some kind of “direct
acquaintance” that does not require an MMoP (Cf. Schiffer 1990: 255). Answer: One
does not need to think about MMoP A to use MMoP A to think about A. However, if one
does happen to want to think about MMoP A , then one does need a concept of MMoP A
with its own MMoP. “And don't we have to have a way of thinking of MMoPs that don't
involve further MMoPs to avoid a regress?” Answer: No. To frame a thought about
anything, we need a concept of it, including both a CMoP and an MMoP. To think about
that CMoP, we need a further concept of it, and to think about the MMoP we need a
further concept of that. Every layer of thinking about a concept of a concept of … makes
it harder to do the mental gymnastics required to form the thought, and for most people,
the ability to think these ever more complex thoughts will run out pretty quickly. So there
is no regress; the mental gymnastics are voluntary. By contrast, the allegation of the
regress argument that is part of the Property Dualism Argument is that we must go up a
level in order to explain cognitive significance at the preceding level. This is logically
required and not just voluntary mental gymnastics.

A Priori Availability

The second argument presented above was that (to quote White 1986),
Since there is no physicalistic description that one could plausibly suppose is
coreferential a priori with an expression like “Smith's pain at t,” no physical property of a
pain (i.e., a brain state of type X) could provide the route by which it was picked out by
such an expression. (353)
So the MMoP of the mental side of a mind–body identity claim could not be physical.
end p.286

The first thing to notice about this argument is that if “Smith's pain at t” is taken to be the
relevant mental concept in the Property Dualism Argument, it has the flaw of being
purely linguistic and not a phenomenal concept of the sort I have argued is required for
the argument. Still, it might seem that the argument goes through, for a genuinely
phenomenal concept does not make a physical description of anything that could be
called the route of reference any more available a priori than does the description
“Smith's pain at t.”
Note that the raison d'être of modes of presentation assumed here is not the cognitive
significance appealed to in the regress argument but rather: the property of the referent
(i.e., MMoP) that provides “the route by which it is picked out.” What is “the route by
which it is picked out”? I think the right thing to mean by this phrase is what I have
called fixing the referent, but I doubt that anything hangs on which of a number of
candidates is chosen. Consider a case in which the subject conceives of the referent as
being the local wet thing. Let us suppose:

•The property of being the local wet thing is a priori available to the subject on the basis
of understanding the term and therefore grasping its CMoP.
•The property of being the local wet thing uniquely determines the referent.

•The subject has given this property the special reference-fixing authority mentioned
earlier.

My strategy is to concede all that could reasonably be said to be involved in reference


fixing and to argue that nonetheless the argument does not work. For being wet = being at
least partially covered or soaked with H 2 O. But the subject whose metaphysical mode of
presentation it is need not have a priori access to “being at least partially covered or
soaked with H 2 O” or know a priori that this physical description is coreferential with the
original description. The subject can give the property of being the local wet thing the
special reference-fixing authority, and thus have that property a priori available from the
first-person point of view, without ever having heard of “H 2 O.” I hereby stipulate that
the name “Albert” is the name of the local wet thing. In virtue of my grasp of the term
“Albert,” the property of Albert's being the local wet thing is a priori available to me.
Also, I have stipulated that the property of being the local wet thing has the special
reference-fixing authority. But I can do all that without knowing all descriptions of that
property. That property can be and is physical even though I do not know, and therefore
do not have a priori available, its physicalistic description.
Earlier, I considered the idea that MMoPs should be individuated according to CMoPs
and thus that the property of being the local wet thing—considered as an MMoP-
individuated-according-to-CMoP—is not identical to the property of being covered or
soaked with H 2 O because the terms “water” and “H 2 O” are not identical. And of
course this way of individuating the MMoP would provide an objection to the argument
of the last paragraph.
However, the question then arises of what it is for such properties to be physical and what
the physicalist's commitments are with respect to such properties. I believe that this
question is best pursued not by inquiring about how to think of such strange entities as
MMoPs-individuated-according-to-CMoPs but by focusing on the CMoPs themselves.
And a further reason for turning the focus to CMoPs is that

although the subject need have no a priori access to the physical descriptions of the
physical properties that provide the metaphysical route of access, it may be thought that
this is not so for CMoPs. After all, CMoPs are certainly good candidates for something to
which we have a priori access!
Let us distinguish two things that might be meant by saying that a CMoP (or MMoP) is
physical. First, one might have an ontological thesis in mind—that the CMoP (or MMoP)
is identical to a physical entity or property or some conglomeration involving physical
properties or entities. In this sense, a CMoP (or MMoP) can be physical whether or not
the subject has a priori access to any physicalistic description of it. (The issue with which
the Property Dualism Argument is concerned is whether phenomenal properties are,
ontologically speaking, physical properties. I said at the outset that the issue of whether
the cognitive apparatus involved in a CMoP is ontologically physical should be put to one
side [except to the extent that that apparatus is phenomenal]. My rationale, you will
recall, is that although there is an important issue as to whether physicalism can handle
cognitive [and semantic] entities or properties, in a discussion of whether phenomenal
properties are physical, a good strategy is to suppose that nonphenomenal cognitive and
semantic entities are not physically problematic.)
A second interpretation of the claim that a CMoP is physical is that it is explicitly
physical or explicitly analyzable a priori in physical terms. In this chapter, I have been
using “physicalistic” to mean explicitly physical. It is not obvious what it would mean to
say that an MMoP is or is not physicalistic (since it is not a cognitive, linguistic, or
semantic entity), but it does make sense to say that something that involves conceptual or
linguistic or semantic apparatus is or is not physicalistic. For example, the CMoP “being
covered with water” is not physicalistic (at least if we restrict physics to microphysics),
whereas “being covered with H 2 O” is physicalistic.
Is the CMoP of a phenomenal concept physical? Physicalistic? Recall that according to
me, a phenomenal concept uses a (token of a) phenomenal property to pick out a
phenomenal property. Thus the CMoP of a phenomenal concept contains a
nondescriptive element: a phenomenal property. And a phenomenal property is certainly
not explicitly physical (physicalistic), that is, it does not contain conceptual apparatus or
vocabulary of physics. A phenomenal property is not a bit of conceptual apparatus, and it
contains no conceptual apparatus. So focusing on the “physicalistic” sense of “physical,”
the CMoP of a phenomenal concept is not physical. Must the physicalist therefore admit
defeat? Hardly, for physicalism is not the doctrine that everything is explicitly physical.
Physicalism does not say that all descriptions or conceptual apparatus are couched in
physical vocabulary or analyzable a priori in physical vocabulary. Physicalists allow that
there are domains of thought other than physics. Physicalists do not say that economics,
history, and anthropology use physicalistic vocabulary or conceptual apparatus. This is an
absurd form of conceptual or terminological reductionism that cannot be equated with
physicalism.
Physicalism does not require that the CMoP of a phenomenal concept be physicalistic,
but it does require that it be (ontologically) physical. Is it physical? That depends partly
on whether all semantic and cognitive apparatus is physical, an issue that I have put aside
for the purposes of this chapter. So the remaining issue is whether the phenomenal
property that is part of the CMoP is physical. And that, of
end p.288
course, is the very issue of physicalism versus dualism that is our subject matter. The
Property Dualism Argument cannot assume that it is not physical; that is what the
argument is supposed to show.
Where are we? Here is the dialectic: The property dualist says that in order for
physicalism to be true, the physical description of the property that provides the route of
reference (of the phenomenal term in a phenomenal-physical identity) has to be a priori
available to the subject; it is not a priori available; so physicalism is false. I pointed out
that even on very liberal assumptions about the role of the MMoP, a priori availability of
a physical description of a physical property is an unreasonable requirement. But then I
imagined a property dualist reply which said that I had failed to individuate the MMoP
according to the CMoP. I then suggested that we eliminate the middleman, looking at the
CMoP itself instead of considering the MMoP-individuated-according-to-the-CMoP. I
pointed out that there is a sense of “nonphysical” (namely nonphysicalistic) in which the
CMoP of a phenomenal concept is indeed nonphysical. I noted, however, that physicalists
are not committed to all language or conceptual apparatus being physicalistic.
Physicalists are committed to ontological physicalism, not conceptual reductionism. How
does this apply to the MMoP-individuated-according-to-the-CMoP? It is true that if you
individuate MMoPs according to CMoPs, then if there is no a priori available physical
description, the MMoP is not “physical,” and, in this sense, White's argument is correct.
But all “physical” comes to here is physicalistic, and it is no part of physicalism to make
any claim to the effect that phenomenal MMoPs or CMoPs are physicalistic. Thus the
assumption of the second argument (the topic of this section, the a priori availability
argument), that the physicalist requires an a priori available description of the MMoP of
the mental side of the mind-body identity, is false.
If MMoPs have to be thin, then perhaps the distinction between an MMoP's being
ontologically physical and explicitly physical does not come to as much as would
otherwise seem. Since a thin physical property has no hidden essence, it might be said to
wear its physicality on its sleeve. However, if this is the only way to save the argument
from a priori availability, the argument does not stand on its own but depends on the
thin/thick argument, to which we now turn.
But first a brief reminder of what has been presupposed so far about the nature of MMoPs
and CMoPs. In rebutting the regress argument, I assumed, along with the argument itself,
that the raison d'être of MMoPs is to account for cognitive significance. The issue arose
as to whether an MMoP defined according to its explanatory purpose must also fix
reference or determine the referent. I noted that this cannot be assumed. The issue of the
nature of CMoPs did not arise. In rebutting the second argument, I did not make any
assumption about MMoPs or CMoPs that should be controversial, allowing a priori
availability of the MMoP on the basis of the CMoP, reference-fixing authority, and
determination of the referent.

Thin/Thick
The third argument that the MMoP of a phenomenal concept cannot be physical involves
the distinction mentioned between “thin” and “thick” properties. As we have seen above,
the first two parts of the Property Dualism Argument fall flat on
end p.289

their own, but they can be resuscitated using the thin/thick distinction. However, if it
could be shown that MMoPs must be thin, these other arguments would be superfluous,
since the claim that MMoPs must be thin leads to dualism by a shorter route, as I will
explain shortly.
First, I must consider what exactly the thick/thin distinction is. I have been taking it that
whether a property is thick or thin is a matter of whether it has a hidden essence. On this
view, the primary bearer of thickness is a property, and a thick concept would be a
concept that purports to be a concept of a thick property. However, this definition will be
wrong if fundamental physical properties are thin. For since being water = being H 2 O, if
being H 2 O is thin and being water is thick, whether a property is thick or thin is relative
to what concept one has of that property. (Of course, being H 2 O is not a candidate for a
fundamental physical property—I used that description as a surrogate because I don't
know how to describe water in terms of electrons, quarks, etc.) On the picture of the
thick/thin distinction in which whether a property is thin is concept-relative, one could
define a thin concept as follows: the extension of the concept in a possible world does not
depend on its extension in the actual world. (In terms of Chalmers's apparatus, the
primary intension is the same as the secondary intension.) And thin properties would be
defined in terms of their relation to thin concepts. 35
Are fundamental physical properties thin? Or, to put the matter from the other
perspective, are fundamental physical concepts concepts of thin properties? We could
approach the issue via the question of whether there could be a Twin Earth case for
fundamental physical concepts. In my view, the answer is yes. I gave an example long
ago (Block 1978) in terms of matter and antimatter, using for simplicity, the physics of
the 1960s. The idea is that there is a counterfactual situation in which people who are
relevantly like us—functionally like us—use the term “electron” to refer to antielectrons.
That is, the counterfactual situation is one in which our doppelgängers inhabit a universe
or a place in our universe in which antimatter plays the role played here by matter. And
as a result, their Ramsey sentence for fundamental physics is the same as ours. 36 Which
suggests that the functional role of a concept inside the head is not enough to determine
its full nature, since the concept of an electron is not the same as the concept of an
antielectron.
But perhaps science will delve further into the matter/antimatter distinction, coming up
with further structure that explains the distinction and that would make a difference
between the functional role of our concept and the doppelgängers' concept. The problem
is that what we regard as fundamental physics is full of symmetries that can ground more
complex examples, the idea being that there is more to physical reality than can be cashed
out in a Ramsey sentence.
Of course, I don't think this mere suggestion settles the matter. Rather, I take the upshot
to be that the issue of whether fundamental physical properties are thin cannot be settled
here. Another argument in favor of that view is the point (Block
end p.290

2003) that it is compatible with much of modern physics that for each level, there is a still
more fundamental level, the upshot being that there is something defective about the
notion of a “fundamental” level in physics.
Ideally, I would consider the issues concerning the thick/thin distinction using both
approaches, with thin properties defined in terms of thin concepts and vice versa. Here,
however, I will simply make a choice based on ease of discussion: I'll take properties as
basic. I don't think any issues will depend on this choice.
Whether a property is thick or thin, then, will be considered here to be a matter of
whether it has a hidden essence. For example, water or the property of being water is
thick, since whether something is water goes beyond superficial manifestations of it.
Examples of thin properties are mathematical properties, at least some functional
properties, and phenomenal properties if dualism is true. (The last point about dualism
could be challenged—see Nagel 2002—but I will put the issue aside.) Artifact properties
such as being a telephone might also be taken by some to be thin. As I mentioned,
fundamental properties of physics might be alleged to be thin.
Note that it is not necessary for the property dualist to claim that all MMoPs are thin
properties; it would be enough if this were true only for the MMoPs of phenomenal
concepts. I do not have a blanket argument against all attempts to show that MMoPs for
phenomenal concepts must be thin, but I do have arguments for a number of specific
attempts.
Why believe that MMoPs must be thin? I will start with two arguments:

1.The a priority argument, which appeals to the idea that the MMoP is a priori available
on the basis of the CMoP.

2.The aspect argument, according to which the cognitive significance role of MMoPs
precludes thick properties serving as modes of presentation. For the property dualist
may say that it is not all of a thick property but only an aspect of it, the thin aspect, that
explains rational error.

These two arguments for MMoPs (at least for phenomenal concepts) being thin appeal to
different features of MMoPs and their relations to CMoPs. Although I have registered
doubt as to whether the same entities can serve both functions, I will put that doubt aside.

The A Priority Argument for Thin MMoPs

Let us assume that the MMoP of a concept is a priori available on the basis of the CMoP.
For example, if one grasps the term “Hesperus,” and if its CMoP is the meaning or other
mental features of “the morning star,” then the MMoP of rising in the morning is
supposed to be a priori available by virtue of one's grasp of the term and its CMoP. This
constraint might be taken to rule out thick MMoPs, for it might be said that I do not know
a priori whether I am on Earth or Twin Earth (McKinsey 1991). A thick MMoP might
vary as between Earth and Twin Earth, which would be incompatible with a priori
availability on the basis of the CMoP, which I and my twin on Twin Earth share.
I will give a fuller treatment of such arguments in the next section, but for now I will
reply for the special case of phenomenal concepts, using the points made earlier about a
phenomenal property doing double duty.
end p.291

I mentioned that a phenomenal property might be part of a CMoP, but also be brought in
by the MMoP. For example, the CMoP might be taken to be the meaning or other mental
features of: “the experience:___,” where the blank is filled by phenomenal property P.
And the MMoP might be the property of being P. Such a relation between the CMoP and
the MMoP allows for the MMoP to be a priori available on the basis of the CMoP, even
if the property P is a thick property with a hidden essence. That is, the property of being P
is a priori available on the basis of a grasp of a CMoP that has property P as a constituent
whether or not P is thick.
Although the a priori relation in itself does not appear to pose an obstacle to the thickness
of the MMoP, it might be thought to pose a problem combined with another argument, to
which we now turn.

The Aspect Argument

As mentioned, the idea of the aspect argument is that it is not all of a thick property that
explains cognitive significance in general and rational error in particular, but only an
aspect of it, the aspect that is available a priori on the basis of the CMoP. But on the face
of it, that aspect can itself be thick. Recall the example of Albert, which I pick out on the
basis of its being the local wet thing. Albert's property of being the local wet thing fixes
reference, uniquely determines the referent, is a priori available, and is thick.
The property dualist may say that the property that would serve in explanations of error is
not that it is wet but that it looks wet. However, consider a nonperceptual case: I infer,
using inductive principles, that something in the corner is wet, and I pick it out via its
property of being wet. In this case, the substitution of looks wet for wet is unmotivated.
The MMoP just does not seem perceptual. Nor does it seem artifactual nor, more
generally, functional. On the face of it, the MMoP is a thick property, the property of
being wet—that is, at least partially covered or soaked with water (which is thick because
being covered or soaked with water is being covered or soaked with H 2 O).
But perhaps this rebuttal misses the significance of aspects to the first-person point of
view. Perhaps the property dualist will say something like this:
If phenomenal property Q is a physical property, then it can be picked out by a
physical—say, neurological—concept that identifies it in neurological terms. But those
neurological identifications are irrelevant to first-person phenomenal identifications,
showing that the first-person phenomenal identification depends on one aspect of the
phenomenal property (its “feel”) rather than another aspect (its neurologically identifying
parameters). You have suggested that “cortico-thalamic oscillation” picks out its referent
via the effect of cortico-thalamic oscillation on instruments that monitor oxygen uptake
from blood vessels in the brain. But this effect is not part of the first-person route by
which we pick out Q, so it follows that not every aspect of the physical property is
relevant to the first-person route. Therefore the identity “Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation”
is supposed to be one in which the terms pick out a single referent via different properties
of it, different MMoPs. And so the Property Dualism Argument has not been avoided.
I agree that the two terms of the identity “Q = cortico-thalamic oscillation” pick out the
referents via different aspects of that referent, different MMoPs. And I also
end p.292

agree that the aspect used by the mental term of the identity is available to the first person
whereas the aspect used by the physical term is not. But it does not follow that the aspect
used by the mental term is thin. It is true that no neurological property is explicitly part of
the first-person route, but that does not show that it is not part of the first-person route,
albeit ontologically rather than explicitly. The MMoP of Q is stipulated to be
phenomenal, and may be taken to be the property of being Q. But being identical to Q, on
the physicalist view, is both a thick property and available to the first person. Being
identical to Q is a physical property (being identical to cortico-thalamic oscillation) but is
nonetheless distinct from the MMoP I have been supposing for “cortico-thalamic
oscillation,” which has to do with the oxygen uptake that functional magnetic resonance
scanners use to identify it. On the physicalist view, the feel and the neurological state are
not different aspects of one thing: they are literally identical. If they are aspects, they are
identical aspects. But the MMoP of the right-hand term of the identity is still different
from the MMoP of the left-hand term.
As mentioned earlier, some will say that oxygen uptake cannot provide the MMoP for the
term “cortico-thalamic oscillation,” which should be taken to be cortico-thalamic
oscillation itself, or perhaps being identical to cortico-thalamic oscillation. In this
supposition, there is a germ of a different argument for dualism, the E → 2M Argument
discussed earlier.
I say that the aspect of a property that accounts for cognitive significance can itself be
thick, appealing to examples. But the property dualist may suppose that if we attend to
the mental contents that are doing the explaining, we can see that they are narrow
contents, contents that are shared by Putnamian twins, people who are the same in
physical properties inside the skin that are not individuated by relations to things outside
the skin. If the relevant explanatory contents are narrow contents, then the corresponding
explanatory properties—MMoPs—will be thin.
Here is the argument, the Narrow → Thin Argument, in more detail, offered in the voice
of the property dualist:

N →T Argument: Suppose my CMoP is “the wet thing in the corner” (in a


nonperceptual case), and my twin on Putnam's Twin Earth would put his CMoP in the
same words. Still, the difference between what he means by “wet” and what I mean by
“wet” cannot matter to the rationalizing explanatory force of the CMoPs. And since
CMoPs are to be individuated entirely by rationalizing explanatory force, my twin and I
have the same CMoPs: the CMoPs are narrow. But since the MMoP is a priori available
to anyone who grasps the CMoP, the twins must have the same MMoP as well as the
same CMoP, so the MMoP must be thin. Narrow CMoP, therefore thin MMoP.

The N → T Argument presupposes the familiar but controversial idea that only narrow
content can serve in intentional explanations. However, on the face of it, my “water”
concept can be used in an explanation of my drinking water (“I wanted water, I saw
water, so I drank water”) but would not explain my drinking twin-water. 37 The idea that
only narrow contents can serve in a rationalizing explanation is certainly controversial. I
will not enter into this familiar dispute here except to
end p.293

say that I think the papers by Burge referred to in the last footnote make a convincing
case for wide explanations.
The inference from narrow content/narrow CMoP to thin MMoP has some initial
plausibility, but it in fact begs the question. I agree with the premise of the N → T
Argument that phenomenal CMoPs are narrow. (I won't go into the possibility that there
is a descriptive part of the CMoP that is wide.) However, it does not follow that the
MMoP is thin. The physicalist says that since phenomenality supervenes on the physical,
Putnamian doppelgängers will share CMoPs: CMoPs are narrow. For example, a
phenomenal CMoP containing phenomenal property P for one twin will also contain
phenomenal property P for the other twin. The MMoP, being P, will also be the same for
both twins, but that MMoP can nonetheless be thick. In short, the phenomenal part of a
CMoP and the corresponding phenomenal MMoP will in general be narrow in virtue of
being necessarily shared by doppelgängers, but will nonetheless be thick on the
physicalist view. That is, what the doppelgängers necessarily share will be a property
with a scientific essence.
The point can be approached by looking at the anomalous nature of phenomenal kinds.
Phenomenal concepts of the sort that I have described here are natural kind concepts in
that they purport to pick out objective kinds, and if the physicalist is right, those kinds
have scientific natures whose scientific descriptions cannot be grasped a priori simply on
the basis of having the concept. But they differ from most natural kind concepts in that
the Twin Earth mode of thought experiment does not apply. The Twin Earth mode of
thought experiment involves a pair of people who are the same in physical properties
inside the skin (that are not individuated by relations to things outside the skin) but with a
crucial physical difference. In Putnam's classic version, twins who are relevantly the
same in physical properties inside the skin pick out substances using the term “water”
that have physically different natures, so (it is claimed) the meanings of their “water”
terms and “water” thought contents differ. They are (relevantly) physically the same, but
different in “water” meaning and “water” content.
But how is the Twin Earth thought experiment supposed to be applied to phenomenality?
If physicalism is true, the twins cannot be the same in physical properties inside the skin
(that are not individuated by relations to things outside the skin) and also differ in the
physical natures of their phenomenal states! (That's why I say the N → T Argument begs
the question against physicalism.) So there is no straightforward way to apply the
Putnamian Twin Earth thought experiment to phenomenal concepts. (The issue
concerning Burgean thought experiments is more complex because it hinges on the ways
our terms express phenomenal concepts. I can't go into the matter here.)
But perhaps only a superficial analysis of Twin Earth thought experiments requires that
the twins be the same in physical properties inside the skin (that are not individuated by
relations to things outside the skin). One way to think of Twin Earth cases is that what is
important is that they be mentally alike in ways that don't involve relations to things
outside the skin. (Thus, for some purposes, functional alikeness may seem more relevant
than microphysical alikeness. This line of thought was what I used in my earlier
discussion of whether fundamental physical properties are thin.) But phenomenality is
certainly part of mentality, so if twins are
end p.294

to be the same in phenomenal CMoPs, there had better not be any physical difference
between them that makes a phenomenal difference. However, from the physicalist point
of view, the shared phenomenality of the twins' CMoPs has to be explained by a shared
physical basis of it. So the shared narrow CMoP is compatible with a shared thick
MMoP.
The upshot is that phenomenal concepts are an anomaly—at least from the physicalist
point of view. They are natural kind concepts in that they allow for objective scientific
natures that are “hidden” (the scientific descriptions are not a priori available on the basis
of merely having the concept). But they are different from other natural kind concepts in
that no reasonable facsimile of a Putnamian Twin Earth scenario is possible.
So even if the inference from narrow CMoP to thin MMoP applies in a variety of other
cases, it should not be surprising that it fails to apply in this anomalous case. The CMoPs
for phenomenal concepts can be narrow even though the corresponding MMoPs are
thick. Indeed, the CMoPs themselves can be both narrow and thick. Narrow because
nonrelational in the appropriate way, thick because they involve a phenomenal element
that has a hidden scientific nature.
I have rebutted the aspect and a priority arguments and a subsidiary argument, the N → T
Argument, which all push for the conclusion that MMoPs of phenomenal concepts must
be thin. But one can also look at the thesis itself independently of the arguments for it.
Here are two considerations about the thesis itself.

Issues about the Claim of Thin MMoPs for Phenomenal Concepts

First, the assumption of thin MMoPs is perhaps sufficient for the conclusion of the
Property Dualism Argument all by itself. For what are the candidates for a thin MMoP for
a phenomenal concept? Artifact properties like being a telephone (even assuming that
they are thin) and purely mathematical properties are nonstarters. Some kind terms that
are not natural kind terms (e.g., “dirt”) may yield thin properties. But phenomenal
MMoPs are not artifactual or mathematical, and they are or purport to be natural kinds. It
is not clear whether there are any natural kind terms that express thin properties. Even if
there are fundamental physical properties that are thin, the property dualist can hardly
suggest fundamental physical properties as candidates for MMoPs for phenomenal
concepts, since that has no independent plausibility and in any case would be
incompatible with the conclusion of the property dualist's argument. So it would seem
that the only remotely plausible candidates for thin MMoPs by which phenomenal
concepts refer are (1) purely functional properties, in which case deflationism would be
true, and (2) phenomenal properties that are nonphysical, in which case dualism is true.
The conclusion would be the same as the conclusion of the Property Dualism Argument
itself: that phenomenal realist physicalism is untenable.
The upshot is that much of the argumentation surrounding the property dualism argument
can be dispensed with if the arguments of this chapter are correct. The most obvious
arguments that MMoPs of phenomenal concepts cannot be physical (the regress argument
and the a priori availability argument) do not stand alone but rather depend on the
thin/thick argument. I have not shown that there is no good
end p.295

argument for the claim that MMoPs of phenomenal concepts are thin, but I have rebutted
some obvious candidates, and it is hard to see how the regress and a priori availability
arguments could be used to justify the thinness claim, given that they presuppose it. So if
my arguments are right, the burden of proof is on the property dualist to come up with a
new argument for the claim that MMoPs of phenomenal concepts are thin.
Here is the second point. So far, I have argued that the assumption of thin MMoPs leads
directly to dualism or deflationism, putting a heavy burden of proof on the property
dualist to justify that assumption. But actually I doubt that deflationism really is an
option. Let me explain. The functionalist characterizes functional properties in terms of
the “Ramsey sentence” for a theory. Supposing that “yellow teeth” is an “observation
term,” the Ramsey sentence for the theory that smoking causes both cancer and yellow
teeth is F 1 F 2 [F 1 causes both F 2 and yellow teeth]; the Ramsey sentence says that
there are two properties one of which causes the other and also yellow teeth. Focusing on
psychological theories, where the “observation terms” (or “old” terms in Lewis's
parlance) are terms for inputs and outputs, the Ramsey sentence could be put as follow:
F 1 … F n [T(F 1 … F n , i 1 … i m , o 1 … o p )]. The “i” terms are input terms and the
“o” terms are output terms. Functional properties of the sort that can be defined in terms
of the Ramsey sentence are properties that consist in having certain other properties that
have certain causal relations to inputs, outputs, and other properties. 38 The inputs and
outputs can be characterized in many ways. For example, an output might be
characterized neurally, or in terms of movements of a hand or leg, or distally, in terms of,
for example, water in the distance, or distally and mentalistically in terms of drinking
water. But all of these characterizations are plausibly thick, not thin. Perhaps you will
think that some of them are themselves to be cashed functionally, but then the issue I am
raising would arise for the input and output specification of those functional properties.
Since the problem I am raising depends on the thickness of the input and output
properties, I put those terms for those properties (“i 1 ” … “i m ,” “o 1 ” … “o p ”) in bold
in the Ramsey sentence earlier. The only functional properties I know of that are
plausibly thin are purely formal functional properties that abstract from the specific
nature of inputs and outputs, the kind of functional property that could be shared by a
person and an economy. (See Block 1978.) For example, in the case of the theory that
smoking causes cancer and yellow teeth, a purely formal Ramsey property would be:
being an x such that F 1 F 2 F 3 [F 1 causes F 2 and F 3 ] and x has F 1 . This is the
property of having a property, which causes two other properties. Such a property could
be shared by a person and an economy. Since not even a deflationist should agree that the
metaphysical modes of presentation of our phenomenal states are purely formal, the only
remaining option is dualism. So the assumption of thin properties plausibly leads right to
dualism.
end p.296

To sum up the points about the thin/thick argument: The “aspect” rationale for MMoPs
being thin seems doubtful because the aspect can itself be thick. And the rationale for thin
MMoPs in terms of the supposed a priori relation between CMoP and MMoP is
problematic because the key phenomenal feature of the MMoP can also be present in the
CMoP when the relevant concept is phenomenal. At least this is so on one plausible
notion of phenomenal concepts, which the property dualist would have to challenge.
Narrow CMoPs can be used to argue for thin MMoPs, but this reasoning begs the
question against the physicalist. I explained at the outset that the emphasis on MMoPs at
the expense of CMoPs was tactical: the metaphenomenal move, which says that modes of
presentation bring in unreducible phenomenality, can be discussed equally with respect to
either mode of presentation. This is the place in the argument where the artificiality is
most apparent; CMoPs must be discussed explicitly.
Moving to the thesis itself, independently of arguments for it, the assumption of thin
MMoPs amounts to much the same thing as the Property Dualism Argument itself.
Further, the only remotely plausible candidates for thin MMoPs are purely formal
properties that we do not have ordinary concepts of and phenomenal properties
dualistically conceived. The purely formal properties, though more plausible than some
other candidates, are not very plausible, even from a deflationist point of view.
Deflationist functionalism is based on analyses of mentality in terms of sensory input and
behavioral output. Purely formal properties do not adequately capture such analyses and
cannot do so without thick input and output terms. The upshot is that the assumption of
thin MMoPs for phenomenal concepts adds up to dualism itself. To assume thin MMoPs
begs the question against the physicalist.
Of course, I have not shown that there cannot be an argument for thin phenomenal
MMoPs, but I hope I have shown that a number of candidates do not succeed.

The Relation between the Property Dualism Argument and Some Other Arguments for
Dualism

Loar (1990/97) locates the flaw in Jackson's “Mary” argument and Kripke's modal
argument in a certain principle, the “semantic premise.” 39 The semantic premise (on one
understanding of it) says that if a statement of property identity is a posteriori, then at
least one of the MMoPs must be contingently associated with the referent. The idea
behind the principle is that if the two concepts pick out a property noncontingently, it
must be possible for a thinker who grasps the concepts to see, a priori, that they pick out
the same property. Again the issue arises as to what notion of MMoP is at stake.
Consider, for example, the reference-fixing notion of MMoP. In this sense, the “semantic
premise” is plainly false. Note that the person formed by
end p.297

a certain sperm = the person formed by a certain egg. This identity is a posteriori, yet
both terms pick out their referents via essential and therefore necessary properties of it,
assuming that Kripke is right about the necessity of origins. Call the sperm and egg that
formed George W. Bush “Gamete-Herbert” and “Gamete-Barbara,” respectively. The
person formed from Gamete-Herbert = the person formed from Gamete-Barbara. “The
person formed from Gamete-Herbert” does not pick out George W. contingently, nor
does “The person formed from Gamete-Barbara.” My example is put in terms of
individuals but it is easy to see how to frame a version of it in terms of properties. Even if
Kripke is wrong about the necessity of origins, the logic of the example remains. One
thing can have two necessary but insufficient property, both of which can be used to pick
it out, neither of which a priori entails the other. Thus the terms in a true a posteriori
identity can pick out that thing, each term referring by a different necessary property as
the MMoP.
Of course there is some contingency in the vicinity. Gamete-Herbert might have joined
with an egg other than Gamete-Barbara or Gamete-Barbara might have joined with a
sperm other than Gamete-Herbert. And this might suggest a modification of the principle
(one that White [chap. 11, this volume] suggests in response to an earlier version of this
chapter), namely, that if a statement of property identity is a posteriori, then it is not the
case that both terms refer via MMoPs that are necessary and sufficient conditions for the
property that is the referent. Or, more minimally, if a property identity is a posteriori,
then it is not the case that one term refers via a sufficient property of it and the other
refers via a necessary property of it. But a modification of my example (contributed by
John Hawthorne) suggests that neither of these will quite do. Let the identity be the
actual person formed from Gamete-Herbert = the actual person formed from Gamete-
Barbara. Arguably, each designator refers via a property that is both necessary and
sufficient for the referent. So the revised version of the semantic premise is also false.
The reference of the terms “Gamete-Herbert” and “Gamete-Barbara” need not be fixed
via properties that involve George Bush. The gametes can be identified independently,
for example, before George Bush was conceived. But perhaps the names will pick them
out via some contingent reference-fixing property, such as a perceptual demonstrative
(“that egg”) or by description. And that motivates White (chap. 11, this volume) to
suggest a beefed-up form of the semantic premise that says that there must be
contingency either in the relation between MMoPs and referent or in the relation between
MMoPs and the MMoPs of those MMoPs, or … , and so on. I reject the beefed-up
semantic premise for the reason given earlier: I don't think these further MMoPs need
exist. That is, in the identity “a = b,” there will be MMoPs associated with both sides. But
there will be no MMoPs of those MMoPs unless the subject happens to refer to the first-
level MMoPs in another voluntary cognitive act.
Conclusion

Both the Knowledge Argument and Max Black's Property Dualism Argument for dualism
hinge on the idea that there is something special about phenomenality in
end p.298

our phenomenal concepts that eludes physicalism. Both arguments are ways of making
concrete what I called the metaphenomenal move: the idea that in a phenomenal mind-
body identity claim, the CMoP is partly constituted by something with unreducible
phenomenality or the MMoP is an unreducible phenomenal property.
My response has been to argue that phenomenality in modes of presentation is no
different from phenomenality elsewhere. I tried to dissolve apparent impediments to the
phenomenal element in the CMoP and the MMoP being physical. My way out involves a
notion of a phenomenal concept that has some affinities with the “directness” story in
which there is no metaphysical mode of presentation at all, since my phenomenal MMoPs
are not very different from the referent itself. I considered a family of arguments based on
the idea that MMoPs must be thin, arguing that appeal to narrow content does nothing to
establish thinness. My own view is that phenomenal concepts are both narrow and thick,
which is why the phenomenality in the CMoP can be physical. I also considered a version
of the Property Dualism Argument which assumes that an empirical identity must have
different MMoPs, so that if the MMoPs of the two terms of an identity are the same, then
the identity is a priori. I argued that whereas sameness of CMoP makes for a priority of
the identity, sameness of the MMoP does not.
Much of the argumentation involved the principle that a difference in CMoP requires a
difference in MMoP (D(CMoP) → D(MMoP)). I argued that nothing forces us to adopt
notions of CMoP and MMoP on which this principle is true. However, at a key point in
the dialectic, I considered a notion of MMoP individuated with respect to CMoP, which I
argued did not rescue the Property Dualism Argument.
Although I expressed skepticism about whether any one thing can explain rational error,
fix reference, and be relevantly a priori available, I have not claimed that these raisons
d'être fail to coincide except at one point at which I noted that an explanatory MMoP
need not fix the referent. The other rebuttals were keyed to one or another specific
version of MMoPs and CMoPs and their relation. My strategy was to avoid multiplying
arguments based on different notions of CMoP/MMoP by choosing what seemed to me
the strongest argument of each type. In the end, everything hinges on the claim that
MMoPs of phenomenal concepts are thin, and I attempted to remove the most
straightforward motivations for that view.
I have pursued a divide-and-conquer strategy, distinguishing among different senses of
“mode of presentation” and further dividing those by the raisons d'être of modes of
presentation in those senses. My claim is that once we do that, the Property Dualism
Argument dribbles away. I have not claimed to conclusively refute these arguments, but I
believe that the ball is in the property dualist's court.
Appendix on a Variant of the E → 2M Argument Using Primary Intensions Instead of
MMoPs
I mentioned that there is a version of the E → 2M Argument that uses the notion of a
primary intension instead of the notion of an MMoP. The primary intension of “water” is
the function from worlds considered as actual (i.e. as actual world
end p.299

candidates in Davies and Humberstone's sense) to what water turns out to be in that
world. (Or so I will understand the term. Chalmers uses various ways of specifying what
a primary intension is, but since this is a very brief discussion, I will just pick that one.)
Thus the primary intension of “water” picks out water in the actual world and XYZ
(“twin-water”) on Putnam's Twin Earth. Since Putnam's Twin Earth could have both
XYZ and H 2 O in it, the primary intension is a function from “centered” worlds—worlds
with a privileged point—to referents. What makes the primary intension of “water” pick
out XYZ in Putnam's Twin Earth is that the center of that world has the relevant relation
to XYZ rather than to H 2 O. (For example, the center might be surrounded by XYZ,
whereas there might be only a few molecules of H 2 O that are light years away and that
have not causally impinged on the center. If there are people on Twin Earth, we can
suppose causal commerce of the relevant sort between XYZ [but not H 2 O] and uses of
the term “water” that have some appropriate relation to the center.)
I read Chalmers (1996) as stipulating that the primary intension captures the a priori
component of content, and on this reading the primary intension would be more like a
CMoP than an MMoP. Given this stipulation, my complaint that MMoPs are not what is
relevant to a priority would fall away, the pressure instead being on the issue of whether
primary intensions in the sense in which they are stipulated to capture the a priori aspect
of content are indeed the same as secondary intensions. That is, the analog of the E →
2M principle, the “E → 2PI principle,” would be a stipulation, but the other premise of
the argument—that the phenomenal and functional primary intensions are identical to the
secondary intensions—would then take the heat. The secondary intension of “water” is
the function from worlds to what “water” denotes in those worlds, namely water, if there
is any, i.e. H 2 O. The worlds are considered “as counterfactual” (as is familiar from
Kripke): we take the reference of “water” in the actual world as fixed, and, given that
fixed reference, the function picks out what is identical to the actual referent in each
counterfactual world, namely H 2 O if there is any (assuming the usual philosophical
myth that “water” refers to H 2 O in the actual world). So the doubtful premise—
according to me—would be whether primary intensions that are stipulated to capture the
a priori component of content are the same as secondary intensions for either the
phenomenal or the psychofunctional term. (I will be explaining why I am doubtful that
primary intensions can be stipulated to capture an a priori component of content.)
Of course, there is no plausibility of “primary intension = secondary intension” for
“water.” Twin Earth is a counterexample because the primary intension picks out XYZ,
whereas the secondary intension picks out H 2 O. To the extent that the right-hand side of
mind-body identity claims are natural kind terms like “water,” the version of the Property
Dualism Argument presented in this appendix has no plausibility whatsoever. You can
see why by noting that primary intensions in this incarnation correspond to my CMoPs—
which can also be stipulated to capture the a priori aspect of content. As noted earlier,
there is no plausibility at all that the CMoP of, say, a functional term, is identical to the
referent. Consider a very simple functional term, “solubility.” The CMoP of “solubility”
is something like a meaning, but the referent is a property of sugar and salt. Why should
we suppose
end p.300

that the solubility of sugar and salt is a kind of meaning? This seems to be a category
error.
In many of his writings, Chalmers has one notion—primary intension— corresponding to
the two notions of my apparatus—CMoP and MMoP. But in Chalmers 2006, he
considers dividing the primary intension into two notions. As I understand it, the
epistemic intension of “water,” which is stipulated to capture the a priori aspect of
content, is a function from situations (not worlds) to what turns out to be water in those
situations. The primary intension, which on this version is not stipulated to capture the a
priori aspect of content, is a function from worlds to what turns out to be water in those
worlds. So on this scheme, epistemic intensions roughly correspond to my CMoPs,
whereas primary intensions roughly correspond to MMoPs. On this new notion of a
primary intension, it becomes a substantive question whether primary intensions capture
an a priori component of content. If it turns out that they do for phenomenal terms and
psychofunctional terms, then the Property Dualism Argument would avoid the first of the
two objections I mentioned above to the E → 2M analog for primary intensions. So it is
worth taking a closer look at the prospects for the substantive (as opposed to stipulated)
claim that primary intensions capture an a priori component of content.
I will criticize the primary intension as stipulated to capture an a priori component of
content (see Block 1991, and Block and Stalnaker 1999; see also Chalmers 2006 for a
response). Take the value of the primary intension of “water” to be what turns out to be
water in a world considered as actual. How do we know what turns out to be water in a
world considered as actual? By consulting our intuitions about what one should say about
various worlds considered as actual. We ask ourselves what we should say if, for
example, we became convinced we were living in Putnam's Twin Earth. These intuitions
are the epistemic basis of the primary intension, that is how we know what it is. And they
are or at least index its metaphysical basis. That is, these intuitions constitute the
metaphysical basis or they index an underlying property that is responsible both for the
intuitions and the primary intension.
Now ask yourself about another of Putnam's (1970) thought experiments, which we could
put like this. Suppose we discover that cats are actually robots controlled from Mars that
were put on Earth 100 million years ago to spy on the intelligent beings they predicted
would evolve. There never were any naturally evolving catlike creatures, since the robot
cats killed off anything that had a chance of becoming one. When intelligent primates
finally evolved, the robot cats made themselves appealing to people and came to develop
the close relation to people portrayed in Garfield. We are wrong about many of the
properties we take cats to have. The robot cats pretend to be aloof but are actually very
interested in us and love us. They would like nothing better than to act more like dogs,
but their orders are to act aloof. They do not actually purr but use mind control to make
us think they are doing so.
I think the story is intelligible, and I hope you think so, too. But notice that there might be
other (equally intelligible) stories in which cats also fail to have other properties that we
ordinarily think they have. The world I mentioned is a world considered as actual in
which cats are not cute, aloof, purring animals. But there are other worlds considered as
actual in which they lack other properties that we ordinarily think they have. Perhaps all
the properties we ascribe to cats—or at
end p.301

least the ones that distinguish them from, say dogs—are in this sense dispensable. Some
may want to retreat to seeming to have such properties, but in this direction lies the
phenomenalism of C. I. Lewis. If the primary intension of “cat” is determined or indexed
by such intuitions and captures the a priori component of content, it would appear that
there is very little to the a priori component of content. Maybe one can't imagine a world
considered as actual in which cats are not moving, middle-size physical entities—but that
will not distinguish a putative a priori component of “cat” from that of “dog.”
The Chalmers-Jackson response is to note that our intuitions about worlds considered as
actual do in fact distinguish between “cat” and “dog,” so the primary intensions are not so
thin as to be the same for these two words. This response, however, sets up the real
worry, which is that given that these intuitions are or at least index the foundation of the
semantics of these terms, how we are supposed to know whether, in having these
intuitions, that is, in considering a world as actual, we end up covertly changing the
meaning of “cat.” That is, how do we know whether in coming up with the best way of
thinking about a world as actual, one of the variables we implicitly adjust is the meanings
of the words we use to describe the world?
The problem would be avoided if one had some other notion of the a priori component of
content that could be used in defining primary intensions, for example an account along
the lines of the suggestion from Kripke that some words can be defined metalinguistically
or, alternatively, Katz's more orthodox definitions. The primary intension of “cat” would
be the function from worlds considered as actual to what is picked out in that world by
the proposed definition. But then we would not need the primary intension as an account
of the a priori component of content because we would already have such an account: the
definition.
Note that the problem is not one of indeterminacy in our intuitions or of cases not decided
by our intuitions. Of course, there are cases our intuitions do not decide. The problem is
with cases that our intuitions do decide, such as the robot cat case. Our intuitions are a
function of the simplest overall account, and as Quineans have long said, there is no
guarantee that anything putatively a priori will be preserved in the simplest account. If
one believes in determinate a priori intensions, the thing to say is that our intuitions
present us with situations in which we find it natural to change those a priori intensions.
That is, in considering the Putnam robot cat world, we tacitly change our meaning of
“cat” (Katz 1972, 1975).
So there is a dilemma for the advocate of primary intensions as stipulated to capture an a
priori component of content. If our advocate goes with Katzian or metalinguistic
definitions, then there is no need for the notion of a primary intension. However, if our
advocate rejects those definitions, then it is not clear why we should believe that our
linguistic intuitions index or determine any interesting a priori aspect of content or the
primary intensions that are stipulated to capture it. Of course, primary intensions are just
functions, and so the primary intension of “cat” can be said to exist trivially. Yes, but that
function may include inputs in which the word “cat” is used in a different sense from the
normal one and so could not be said to capture anything semantic. (See the coumarone
example in Block and Stalnaker 1999.) The question is: Why should we believe in a
primary intension that does capture an a priori aspect of content? Given the unreliability
of the intuitions about
end p.302

cases as a pipeline to an a priori notion of content, primary intensions which are


stipulated to capture an a priori notion of content become highly doubtful theoretical
entities.
The upshot for the analog of the E → 2M form of the Property Dualism Argument is this.
If an intension, primary or epistemic, is simply stipulated to capture an a priori aspect of
content, then it is in doubt for the reasons just given. If we put this doubt aside, accepting
the analog of the E → 2M principle, the identity of those intensions with secondary
intensions is in doubt—that is, the other premise of the argument is in doubt. What if the
intension is not stipulated to have this a priori significance, but it is claimed to have it
nonetheless? The Putnamian considerations I raised cast doubt on that claim, but putting
that doubt aside, my view is that to the extent we can show an intension to capture an a
priori aspect of content, it will be doubtful that that intension can be identified with a
secondary intension, so the two premises of the E → 2M argument cannot be satisfied
together.

Acknowledgments

I thank the following persons for commenting on a remote ancestor of this chapter: Paul
Horwich, Brian Loar, David Pitt, Stephen Schiffer, Susanna Siegel, Stephen White, and
Dean Zimmerman. Thanks also to Tyler Burge, David Chalmers, and Stephen White for
comments on a more recent version. I am grateful to students in my graduate seminar,
participants in the NEH Santa Cruz Summer Institute of 2002, participants at an
Australian National University Workshop (“Themes from Ned Block”) in the summer of
2003, and an audience at the University of Houston for reactions to parts of the remote
ancestor.
This chapter is reprinted with permission from D. Zimmerman, ed., Oxford Studies in
Metaphysics, Volume 2. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006: 3–78.

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the Knowledge Argument. In Ian Ravenscroft (ed.) Minds, Worlds & Conditionals:
Essays in Honor of Frank Jackson.
White, S. (1986). Curse of the Qualia. Synthese 68: 333–68. Reprinted in The Nature of
Consciousness, ed. N. Block, O. Flanagan, and G. Güzeldere: 695–718. Cambridge: MIT
Press, 1997.
White, S. (2006). A Posterioiri Identities and the Requirements of Rationality Oxford
Studies in Metaphysics, Volume 2, ed. D. Zimmerman, New York: Oxford University
Press, 2006: 91–102.
Wiser, M., and Carey, S. (1983). When Heat and Temperature Were One. In Mental
Models, ed. D. Gentner and A. Stevens: 267–97. Hillsdale, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum.
end p.306

thirteen Grasping Phenomenal Properties


Martine Nida-Rümelin

Here I present an argument for property dualism. The argument employs a distinction
between having a concept of a property and grasping a property via a concept. If you
grasp a property P via a concept C, then C is a concept of P. But the reverse does not
hold: you may have a concept of a property without grasping that property via any
concept. If you grasp a property, then your cognitive relation to that property is more
intimate than if you just have some concept or other of that property. To grasp a property
is to understand what having that property essentially consists in.
To have a concept of a property is to have a concept one can use to attribute the property
to something. If you have the concept of water, then you can use it to attribute the
property of being water to liquids. You then have a concept of the property of being
water. But you may have the concept of water without knowing that being composed of
H 2 O is essential for being water—without knowing what having the property of being
water consists in. In that case, your concept would not enable you to grasp the property.
I will propose an account of grasping properties. It is quite easy to find examples where
we do not grasp the property at issue. But it might be less obvious that we sometimes do
grasp properties via concepts. I think that we sometimes do and that a clear case is
provided by our understanding of phenomenal properties via phenomenal concepts.
Grasping Phenomenal Properties
To have a particular phenomenal property is to have an experience with a specific
subjective feel. If you have a phenomenal concept of a phenomenal property, then you
know what it is to have an experience with that subjective feel. You thereby know what it
is to have that property: you grasp the phenomenal property via your phenomenal
concept. This idea seems natural. But some work needs to be done to explicate the idea
within a theoretical framework that relates concepts and properties.
end p.307

I will call the claim that we can grasp phenomenal properties via phenomenal concepts
the thesis of phenomenal essentialism. Phenomenal essentialism may seem to trivially
imply property dualism. The property dualist denies that to have a phenomenal property
consists of having physical features. This denial may appear to follow directly from
phenomenal essentialism: if a property has a physical nature, then its nature cannot be
grasped via phenomenal concepts. But this reasoning is too quick. We need a number of
additional substantial assumptions if we wish to argue for property dualism on the basis
of phenomenal essentialism.

The Basic Idea of the Argument

A physicalist who is willing to accept phenomenal essentialism can say (a) that we can
grasp phenomenal properties not only via phenomenal concepts but also via physical
concepts, or (b) that there are physical properties (namely, these phenomenal properties)
that cannot be grasped via physical concepts, but which can be grasped via phenomenal
concepts.

The following claim excludes (b):


1.Cognitive accessibility of physical properties by physical concepts: every physical
property can in principle be grasped via some physical concept.
To exclude (a), I will defend two further claims, one about grasping properties and
another about the cognitive relationship between physical and phenomenal concepts:
2.Cognitive transparency: a person who grasps one and the same property via different
concepts can in principle find out without further empirical investigation that the two
concepts are necessarily coextensive.
3.Cognitive independence: for every physical concept and every phenomenal concept, it
is possible for a rational person with arbitrary physical knowledge to understand both
concepts without being in a position to conclude that they are necessarily coextensive.

It follows from 1–3 and phenomenal essentialism that no phenomenal property can be a
physical property. Suppose some property P is both phenomenal and physical. By
phenomenal essentialism and the cognitive accessibility of physical properties by
physical concepts, P can be grasped by a person via a phenomenal concept C1 and a
physical concept C2. By cognitive transparency, that person can see that C1 and C2 are
necessarily coextensive. But by cognitive independence, this is impossible. This is my
main argument, in outline. I will formulate each premise more precisely below. I will also
discuss each in detail.

Phenomenal Properties, Phenomenal Concepts, and Phenomenal Beliefs

I will have much to say about what determines the extension of phenomenal and physical
concepts. But first I will make some preliminary remarks about phenomenal properties,
phenomenal concepts, and phenomenal beliefs.
end p.308

Phenomenal properties are often conceived of as properties of experiences. But here I


will assume that phenomenal properties are properties of subjects. This is unusual but, I
believe, important for my argument and preferable for independent reasons. This
terminological decision seems important to me for the following reason: it is more
convincing that a subject can grasp what it is to have a certain property on the basis of
having the property than on the basis of having an experience that has the property at
issue. In the first case, the subject's access to the property is in a sense more direct than in
the second. 1
I will assume that concepts are used in thought, but that different people may have the
same concept. I will also assume that concepts are partially individuated by implicit
assumptions accepted by those who have the concept. For example, the concept of being
watery stuff is different from the concept of being water, because the two concepts are
associated with different implicit assumptions about what is essential for having the
property at issue.
To understand phenomenal concepts, it is helpful to consider beliefs involving
phenomenal concepts, or phenomenal beliefs. Consider Frank Jackson's famous case of
Mary. Mary is raised in a black-and-white room and never has color experiences. One
day she leaves the room and looks at the blue sky. When this happens, she learns
something new about the color experiences of other people (see Jackson 1982). She
acquires the phenomenal belief that those people typically have a certain sort of color
experience when they see the blue sky. Thus she takes two steps at once: she acquires the
phenomenal concept of having blue experiences; and she forms a correct belief involving
this concept.
To see that there are two epistemic steps involved, consider the case of Marianna.
Marianna, like Mary, spends her life in a black-and-white environment. Then one day her
environment changes radically. The tables, chairs, and so forth are painted in many
different colors. However, she sees no bananas, tomatoes, or pictures of landscapes. She
sees none of the objects whose colors she knows under previously acquired concepts.
While looking at four different slides in sequence (a blue one, a green one, a yellow one,
and a red one), she may form the false belief that, with respect to hue, the sky looks to
other people the way the red slide looks to her. She has acquired the epistemic capacities
to ask new questions and make new mistakes. This is explained by the fact that she has
new concepts: phenomenal concepts of phenomenal properties. 2
Acquiring phenomenal concepts requires having phenomenal properties oneself. But
having or having had a particular phenomenal property is neither necessary nor sufficient
for acquiring the phenomenal concept of that particular property. It is not
end p.309

sufficient because a sentient being may experience a particular color without forming the
phenomenal concept of the property of having that kind of color experience. A sentient
creature has the phenomenal concept of the property of having a particular kind of color
experience only if that creature can attribute that property under that concept to another
sentient being. It is possible to have a particular color experience without being able to
attribute having this kind of experience to another being. Many nonhuman animals may
be in this position. The other direction also fails to hold. A person who never had an
experience of orange might be able to form the concept of having an experience of
orange on the basis of her acquaintance with red and yellow.

The Actual and Counterfactual Extension of Terms and Concepts

To explain what determines a concept's extension, it will help to begin by recounting


familiar views on natural kind terms. A lesson of Kripke and Putnam's discussions of
natural kind terms may be put as follows: the counterfactual extension of a natural kind
term depends on features of the entities that fall under the term in the real world. If what
falls under the term “water” in the real world is composed of H 2 O, then no liquid in
counterfactual circumstances counts as being water unless it has the same chemical
composition. The same remark applies to the property term “being water” and to the
concept of water. What falls under the water concept in counterfactual circumstances
depends on the chemical structure of the stuff that falls under this concept in the actual
world. If the stuff falling under our water concept in the actual world were composed of
XYZ, then the counterfactual extension of our water concept would differ: its extension
in all counterfactual worlds would be XYZ.
It is quite natural and common to think of the counterfactual extension of a term as being
represented by a function that returns for every possible world w those entities that fall
under the term in the world w. By “falls under the term in the world w” I mean this: given
the relevant facts about things falling under T in the real world, it is appropriate to apply
T to x when talking about the world w. For example, given the chemical facts about the
stuff called “water” in the actual world, it is appropriate to apply the term in all
counterfactual circumstances to H 2 O.
Concepts and linguistic terms may—up to a point 3 —be treated similarly. I propose the
following explication for the counterfactual extension of concepts: x falls under the
concept C in counterfactual circumstances w if, and only if, it is appropriate, given the
relevant facts about the entities falling under C in the real world, to apply C to x when
thinking about the circumstances w. For example,
end p.310

because water is composed of H 2 O in the real world, it is inappropriate to apply the


water concept to a transparent liquid in the lakes on Earth in an imagined counterfactual
world where those lakes instead contain XYZ. Therefore, in that world, XYZ does not
fall under the water concept. And it is appropriate to apply the concept to H 2 O even in
counterfactual circumstances where H 2 O lacks the superficial qualities that it actually
has—qualities such as how it tastes, for example. Therefore, in that world, H 2 O does fall
under the water concept.
The scientific nature of the liquids falling under the water concept in the actual world
determines its counterfactual extension. A person who fully masters (understands) the
concept knows this, perhaps implicitly. Therefore, if my explication is correct, then full
mastery of a concept requires implicit knowledge about how it should be used when
thinking about counterfactual cases. So full mastery of a concept includes implicit,
normative knowledge.
In what sense is this knowledge implicit? Consider someone with no knowledge of
chemistry and who has never formed the concept of counterfactual extension. This person
cannot conceptualize the content of the item of knowledge at issue. Even so, her modal
intuitions might accord with what I have said about the counterfactual extension of the
water concept. Suppose she is told about the difference in chemical composition between
the liquid in the lakes in the actual world and XYZ. She might then judge that an XYZ
world is a world without water.
The item of knowledge is normative because it concerns the way in which we should use
a given concept in our thought. But social norms are irrelevant. It is the content of the
concept, not social norms, that determines when it is correct or incorrect to apply it in
imagined situations.
Counterfactual Extension, the Nature of Properties, and Grasping Properties

The counterfactual extension of a concept is philosophically interesting for the following


reason: there is a conceptual link between the counterfactual extension of a concept and
the nature of the property expressed by the concept. To know the nature of a property is
to know what things that have the property share necessarily, where the modality at issue
is so-called metaphysical necessity. For example, knowing what conscious individuals
happen to have in common does not suffice for understanding consciousness. Perhaps all
and only conscious individuals have eyes. But having eyes is not what being conscious
consists in. If we wish to know what being conscious consists in, or the nature of this
property, then we need to understand what all and only the conscious individuals in all
metaphysically possible worlds have in common. To know the nature of, or grasp, a
property is to know what features are necessary and sufficient for having that property
across counterfactual circumstances. An individual in counterfactual circumstances has
the property P expressed by the concept C if and only if it falls into the extension of the
concept C. So, one who grasps a property P has a concept C of that property and can
decide for every counterfactual circumstance whether an arbitrary thing does
end p.311

or does not fall into C's extension, when given all the relevant information about that
thing.
Let us assume that water is H 2 O and that there is nothing more we can learn about
hydrogen, oxygen, or chemical composition such that the extension of “is composed of H
2 O” depends on facts that are still unknown to us. This is to say, in David Chalmers's
(2006) terminology, that the concept “is composed of H 2 O” is not Twin-Earthable. It
follows that a person who knows that water is composed of H 2 O and understands the
water concept thereby grasps the property of being water. On the basis of her
understanding of the water concept, she knows (perhaps implicitly) that liquids in
counterfactual circumstances fall into the extension of this concept just in case their
chemical composition falls into the concept's actual extension—that is, just in case these
liquids are H 2 O.
This example illustrates two points about grasping properties. First, in order to grasp a
property you may need empirical knowledge in addition to possessing a concept that
expresses the property. Complete understanding of a concept is not in general sufficient
for grasping the property expressed by the concept. Second, understanding a concept
entails knowing the features that entities falling under the concept in counterfactual
circumstances have in common with entities falling under the concept in the actual world.
Understanding a concept involves implicit knowledge of what one may call essentiality
conditionals, such as the following conditional claim: If the water concept actually
applies to all and only H 2 O, then the water concept applies to all and only H 2 O in
thoughts about all counterfactual circumstances.
My account of grasping properties has two parts. One concerns the nature of a property:
the nature of a property P can be understood in terms of the counterfactual extension of
some concept C of P. The other concerns knowledge of this nature: to know the nature of
P is to know the counterfactual extension of some concept of C.
Many philosophers implicitly accept the first part of the account. To see this, note that
discussions of phenomenal properties are typically couched in terms of counterfactual
extension. The functionalist, for example, claims that every individual in metaphysically
possible circumstances who fulfills a particular causal role associated with having a blue
experience ipso facto has a blue experience. His claim about what having a blue
experience consists in is a claim about the counterfactual extension of the concept of
having an experience of blue. The functionalist is not just saying that all individuals who
have states that play the relevant causal roles have blue experiences. He is not just stating
an empirical or nomological regularity. Rather, he is making a claim about all
metaphysically possible worlds. More generally, philosophical debates tend to be, in
effect, debates about the counterfactual extensions of concepts that express the properties
at issue.
Thus, the proposed account of grasping properties merely adds one feature to a widely
accepted view. And the second feature is plausible. If the nature of a property can be
accounted for in terms of the counterfactual extension of some appropriate concept, then
it is natural to suppose that understanding that nature
end p.312

(grasping the property) consists in having the appropriate kind of knowledge of that
counterfactual extension. 4

The Danger of Circularity

But what is it to know the counterfactual extension of a given concept C? As a first


approximation, we may say the following: knowing C's counterfactual extension consists
in having the ability under ideal cognitive conditions to decide correctly for any entity E
whether it falls under C, when given all the relevant information about E. But the relevant
information about E must be given in terms of concepts. It is obvious that we need some
restriction with respect to these concepts. Without any such restriction, it is too easy to
satisfy the above condition. For example, every person is trivially able to determine the
counterfactual extension of the water concept if the information about the relevant
entities in counterfactual circumstances is given to her in terms of the water concept
itself.
But the triviality problem cannot be solved by simply excluding the concept itself from
how the information is described to the epistemic subject. This restriction is at once too
strong and too weak. It is too strong because it would exclude the case of grasping
phenomenal properties, which is precisely the case that interests us here. If you wish to
decide whether a given subject in counterfactual circumstances falls under the
phenomenal concept of having a blue experience, then you must be allowed to adopt that
person's perspective. This is so because it is the way things appear to a subject that is
directly relevant for determining whether it falls into the extension of a given
phenomenal concept. Therefore, we cannot acquire the relevant information about the
counterfactual world unless we are allowed to take the perspective of every subject in the
counterfactual world under consideration. But the point of taking the perspective of a
subject is, of course (in the present context), to be able to think of that subject under the
phenomenal concept itself that is at issue. So the simple restriction under consideration is
not acceptable; it excludes too many cases. 5 But the restriction is also too weak. Suppose
a person knows for any individual A in any counterfactual circumstance whether A falls
under a given concept C. Suppose also that she has this knowledge only when given
information about A in terms of concepts C1, C2, … Cn and that these do not allow her to
grasp the properties they express. Then we must say that
end p.313

she has not yet grasped the property expressed by C. Therefore, the information about A
must be given in terms of concepts that allow the epistemic subject to grasp the properties
they express.
So we have the following situation: to grasp a property via a concept C is to be able to
decide (under ideal cognitive circumstances) whether an individual A in counterfactual
circumstances falls under the concept C when all the relevant information about A is itself
given in terms of concepts that allow the person to grasp the property at issue. At this
point, a danger of circularity arises. One may object, You defined grasping a property in
terms of possessing a certain ability, but in explaining that ability, you used the relevant
notion of grasping.
The way out of this difficulty is to readily admit that we cannot give a definition of
grasping a property. My purpose here is not to conceptually reduce the notion of grasping
properties to anything simpler and better understood than the notion itself. The account
explicates the relation between the notion of grasping properties and counterfactual
extension of concepts. The account may be illuminating even if the notion of grasping
appears on both sides of a biconditional expressing this relation.
The worry about circularity will recur below, when I present a two-dimensional account
of grasping properties. According to this account, a concept allows a person to grasp the
property it expresses if and only if it is, as I will say, actuality independent. (This means,
roughly, that the counterfactual extension does not depend on the world taken as actual.)
In the intuitive explanation of this technical account, it will be impossible to avoid using
the intuitive notion of grasping properties again. So here we have the following situation:
a technical account of the intuitive notion of grasping properties is given within a
technical framework, but the technical framework is given its intuitive interpretation by
using the intuitive notion of grasping again. So, we explain the intuitive notion of
grasping by using the intuitive notion of grasping.
It would be of no help to say that the technical account is doing the whole explanatory
work and that the intuitive interpretation of the technical account is only an unsubstantial
addition to help one understand the technical account: without its intuitive interpretation,
the technical account is nothing but an empty formal apparatus. We have to admit that we
cannot give a technical account of grasping properties without presupposing the
pretheoretical intuitive notion of grasping properties.
But this is a well-known situation. In logic, we cannot give a technical account of “and”
without presupposing the intuitive notion of “and.” Although this is puzzling for
intelligent beginners, there is no reasonable doubt that the technical account of “and” in
logic is nonetheless theoretically helpful and illuminating. Therefore, we cannot argue
against a given technical account of an intuitive notion N merely by pointing out that the
intuitive interpretation of the technical account of N requires using N once again.
The analogy between the technical account of “and” in logic and the technical account of
grasping properties within the two-dimensional framework is imperfect. The main
difference is that the first notion is unproblematic and well understood before we begin to
search for a technical account, whereas the latter notion is problematic and cannot be said
to be well understood pretheoretically. We need no logics to justify using “and.” But we
need a theoretical account of grasping
end p.314

properties to justify its use in philosophy. This difference is relevant for the question of
whether the circle at issue is vicious. In the case of “and,” we may say that the circle is
not vicious because the technical account is not supposed to clarify the intuitive meaning
of “and.” We cannot use this argument in the case of grasping properties. The theoretical
and, in particular, the technical account in this case is supposed to clarify the content of
the pretheoretical notion of grasping. We must therefore say that a technical account can
contribute to our intuitive understanding of a given notion even if the account has to be
intuitively interpreted using the intuitive notion itself. In my view, however, this
possibility obviously exists. A technical account of a notion N can clarify conceptual
interrelations between N and other intuitive notions and can thereby clarify N even if the
technical account of N is circular in the way at issue. This claim, in my view, is well
illustrated by the technical account of grasping properties that I will sketch in this
chapter.
I can now give a more precise answer to the question asked at the beginning of the
present section: an epistemic subject S grasps a property via a concept C if and only if S
can in principle (under ideal cognitive conditions) correctly decide whether an individual
A falls under the concept C when S is given all the relevant information about A in terms
of concepts that allow A to grasp the properties expressed by these concepts. The case in
which the concept C is used in the description is not excluded. The account of grasping a
property is circular. But since the account is not intended as a definition, the circularity is
not vicious.

Essentiality Conditionals

Grasping a property entails having conceptual knowledge and (in general but not always)
empirical knowledge. In the general case, a person grasps a property if she has (a)
conceptual knowledge that suffices to implicitly know the relevant essentiality
conditionals and (b) empirical knowledge that allows her to implicitly conclude which
essentiality conditional has a true antecedent. The water example can be used to illustrate
this point. 6 In order to grasp the property of being water via her concept of being water
and on the basis of her background knowledge, a person P must fulfill the following
conditions:

(C1) P knows implicitly that the following essentiality conditional is true:


(EC) If those liquids falling under our concept of water in the real world are composed of
H 2 O, then a liquid in counterfactual circumstances falls under the concept of being
water just in case it is also composed of H 2 O.
(C2) P knows that this essentiality conditional (rather than, e.g., the one involving XYZ)

has a true antecedent.


To fulfill (C1) is to have an item of conceptual knowledge, and to fulfill (C2) requires
empirical knowledge. As in the present water example, to know which
end p.315

essentiality conditional associated with a concept has a true antecedent normally requires
that one have empirical knowledge about the actual extension of the concept at issue.
A lesson to be drawn from this simple consideration is that any hypothesis about the
nature of a property expressed by a concept C relies in general on (1) a conceptual claim
about the essentiality conditionals associated with the concept and (2) empirical
knowledge about the entities in the actual extension of C. To fully grasp a property, it is
not enough to fully understand some concept that expresses the property. This is because
grasping a property may require empirical knowledge in addition to conceptual
knowledge. In general, it is not sufficient for grasping the property that a concept
expresses that one fully understand the concept because empirical knowledge is required
in addition to conceptual knowledge. However, there are exceptions: some concepts are
such that if you understand the concept, you thereby grasp the property it expresses. The
present simple model of grasping a property allows us to say how a concept can have this
particular status. Having a concept implies grasping the property it expresses if having
the concept necessarily involves knowing which essentiality conditional has a true
antecedent. I will argue later on that this condition is met by phenomenal concepts. 7

A Two-Dimensional Account of Grasping Properties

In this section, I will develop a two-dimensional account of grasping properties. Because


this section is technical, some readers may wish to skip it.
My account assumes an interpretation of the two-dimensional framework developed by
Chalmers and Jackson (see Chalmers and Jackson 2001, and Chalmers 2006). Here is the
basic idea of the account. To grasp a property is to have a concept C of that property and
to know its secondary intension. To know the secondary intension of a concept is to have
a concept C such that all possible secondary intensions relative to one's background
knowledge (those secondary intensions that the concept might have, given what one
knows about its actual extension) coincide with C's real secondary intension. Therefore,
one grasps a property if one has a concept of that property that is actuality independent in
this sense: a person who has that concept thereby has background knowledge that is
compatible with no more than one secondary intension of the concept. I will argue that
phenomenal concepts are actuality independent in this sense. To have a phenomenal
concept PC involves having background knowledge about PC's actual extension that
reduces the set of possible secondary intensions to a single secondary intension, the real
secondary intension of PC. Therefore, to have a phenomenal concept involves grasping
the property it expresses.
end p.316

A Two-Dimensional Account of Grasping

The counterfactual extension of a concept may be identified with its secondary intension.
To define the secondary intension of a concept, we must introduce a two-dimensional
function that characterizes the concept. 8 The two-dimensional function F C that
characterizes the concept C is a two-place function that returns for every pair of possible
worlds w1 and w2 a set of entities. Intuitively, the function returns the set of entities in
the counterfactual world w2 that would fall into the extension of the concept C if w1 were
the actual world. So the claim

F c (w1,w2)=E
is to be read as follows: the extension of C in the world w2 would be E if w1 were the
actual world. 9

The real counterfactual extension of a given concept (the counterfactual extension of the
concept, given the real relevant features of the actual world) is given by the function that
returns for every counterfactual world w 2 the extension of the concept C if the actual
world has the features it really has. So, if we assume that some possible world w actual is
the real world, then we may use the two-dimensional function described above to define
the real counterfactual extension of a concept: it is the one-place function of possible
worlds into extensions that we get if we put w actual into the first slot of the function F C
and keep it fixed. This idea is captured in the following definition of the secondary
intension of a concept.

Definition 1: The secondary intension SI C of a given concept C is defined as follows:


For every w, SI C (w) = F C (w actual , w) where w actual is the actual world.
Using this notion, we can reformulate our account of grasping properties as follows: to
grasp a property is to know the secondary intension of some concept C of that property.
In many cases, one's empirical knowledge combined with one's understanding of the
concept at issue does not suffice for knowing the secondary intension. In this case, one's
available background knowledge is compatible with different secondary intensions of the
relevant concept. The background knowledge of a person who does not know the
chemical composition of water is compatible with the assumption that the secondary
intension of the water concept is the function that returns for every counterfactual world
w the liquids in w that are composed of XYZ. This knowledge is also compatible with the
assumption that the secondary
end p.317

intension of this concept is a function that returns for every counterfactual world w the
liquids in w that are composed of H 2 O.
It is natural to express this last idea by referring to possible secondary intensions. Ideally,
we may ask for every possible world w what would be the secondary intension of a given
concept C if w were the actual world. The function that returns for every counterfactual
world w the liquids in w that are composed of XYZ is a possible secondary intension of
the concept of water: this function would be the secondary intension of that concept if the
actual world were a world with liquids composed of XYZ in the rivers, lakes, and oceans
on Earth. To get the possible secondary intension of a concept that would be the real
secondary intension if w were the actual world, we have to put w into the first slot of the
two-dimensional function F C and keep it fixed. We thus get what we may call the
possible secondary intension of C relative to w, which we may define as follows.

Definition 2: The possible secondary intension of a concept C relative to the possible


world w1 SI C,w 1 is defined as follows:

w2: SI C,w 1 (w2) = F C ( w1, w2 )

Earlier I claimed that understanding a concept entails knowing associated essentiality


conditionals. On this view, in understanding a concept, you know what features an entity
E in counterfactual circumstances must share with the entities falling under the concept in
the actual world if E falls into the counterfactual extension of the concept. Understanding
the concept of water thus involves knowing that a liquid in counterfactual circumstances
falls into the extension of the concept just in case it is composed of H 2 O, if the real
world is a world with liquids composed of H 2 O in the rivers, lakes, and oceans on Earth.
In other words, if you understand the concept, then you know that the function returning
liquids composed of H 2 O for every counterfactual world w would be the secondary
intension of the concept if the real world were one of those possible worlds where there is
H 2 O in the rivers, lakes, and oceans on Earth. In this case, you know for every possible
world w with this particular property what would be the secondary intension of the
concept of water if w were actual. You know the possible secondary intension of the
concept of water relative to w. The same is true for every other possible world. If you are
given the relevant information about an arbitrarily chosen possible world w (the
information about the chemical composition of the liquids in the rivers, lakes, and oceans
in w), then you know what would be the secondary intension of the concept of water if w
were actual. This intuitive reasoning justifies the following proposal: to know the
essentiality conditionals of a given concept C is to know all its possible secondary
intensions.
Suppose that your background knowledge, together with your understanding of a concept
C, do not put you in a position to know C's secondary intension. In that case, there are
still possible worlds that might for all you know be the actual world and fulfill the
following condition: if such a world w were the actual world, then C's secondary
intension would be different from its real secondary intension. Now suppose your
background knowledge and understanding of C does put you in a position to know C's
secondary intension. In that case, any world w that might still
end p.318

be actual according to what you know fulfills this condition: the possible secondary
intension relative to w coincides with C's real secondary intension. We are thus led to the
following semiformal definition of grasping properties:

Definition 3: An epistemic subject S grasps the property P iff S has a concept C of P and
the set K that represents her background knowledge fulfills the following condition:
w (w K SI Cw = SI C )

In a case in which a subject fulfills the definiendum of definition 3, the counterfactual


extension of her concept C does not depend on any features of the world not yet known
by someone who has background knowledge K. Given K, the concept is in this sense
actuality independent. This motivates the following definition:

Definition 4: A concept is actuality independent relative to background knowledge K iff


w (w K SI Cw = SI C )

There may be concepts that are actuality independent relative to any background
knowledge (I will argue that phenomenal concepts are of this kind). Any person who has
such a concept knows its secondary intension. In these cases, whoever has the concept
thereby grasps the property it expresses. Concepts of this special kind fulfill the following
definition:

Definition 5: A concept is actuality independent iff


w SI Cw = SI C

According to this definition, all possible secondary intensions of an actuality-independent


concept coincide with its secondary intension. This means that nothing a person who has
that concept can learn about entities falling under the concept in the real world will
change her judgments about the counterfactual extension of the concept. Also, she need
not learn anything about the world (anything in addition to what she knows, given her
understanding of the concept) to know its counterfactual extension.
So there are two cases of grasping properties to distinguish. In some cases (if a person
has an actuality-independent concept of a property), having a concept suffices for her to
grasp the property it expresses. In other cases, additional empirical knowledge is needed.
Someone who has an actuality-independent concept of a property thereby trivially has an
actuality-independent concept of that property relative to what he or she knows.
Therefore, we can cover both cases of grasping with the following short formulation: to
grasp a property is to have an actuality-independent concept of that property relative to
one's background knowledge.
There is a close relation between the notion of an actuality-independent concept and the
property of having identical primary and secondary intensions: a concept is actuality
independent if and only if its primary intension coincides with any of its possible
secondary intensions (for the definition of primary intensions, see below). If we interpret
Chalmers's claim that the primary and secondary intensions of phenomenal concepts
coincide as the stronger claim that the primary intension of these concepts coincides with
any of its possible secondary intensions, then the
end p.319

thesis that phenomenal concepts are actuality independent in the sense of definition 5 is
equivalent to Chalmers's claim (Chalmers 1996, 2003b).
We still must define the primary intension of a concept.

Definition 6: The primary intension PI C of a given concept C is defined as follows:


w: PI C (w) = F C ( w,w )

So the primary intension of a concept C returns for every possible world w what would be
the extension of the concept C in w if w were the real world. Therefore, the primary
intension can be interpreted as capturing the way the real extension of a concept is
determined. On this interpretation, implicit knowledge of the primary intension is to be
understood as knowledge about how the extension of a concept is determined in the
actual world.

Knowledge and Sets of Possible Worlds: A Problem for the Proposed Account

The proposed two-dimensional definition of grasping properties presupposes that


knowledge can be represented by sets of possible worlds. Within the two-dimensional
framework, the relevant set can be determined in two different ways. It can be determined
on the basis of primary intensions, thereby representing (according to a well-known but
controversial interpretation) the subjective content of the belief or knowledge. The set
can also be determined on the basis of secondary intensions. For the purposes of defining
possible secondary intensions relative to background knowledge, we cannot represent the
relevant knowledge on the basis of secondary intensions. For then we would be unable to
distinguish appropriately between a person who knows that water is H 2 O (Maria) and a
person who has no chemical knowledge at all (Anna). Suppose we chose the set of
possible worlds representing their knowledge on the basis of secondary intensions. In that
case, the possible secondary intension relative to a given world w of the concept of water
would be a function that returns liquids composed of H 2 O for every possible world w in
the set representing Maria's knowledge as well as for every possible world in the set
representing Anna's knowledge. But what Anna knows is compatible with the assumption
that the real possible secondary intension of the concept of water returns XYZ for every
counterfactual world.
But there are also problems with representing knowledge by sets of possible worlds
chosen on the basis of primary intensions. If we accept—as I think we should—that
concepts (and thus the subjective content of beliefs involving them) are partially
constituted by the associated essentiality conditionals, then we have to conclude that
beliefs may be cognitively different even if they involve concepts with identical primary
intensions. For example, beliefs involving the notion of watery stuff are cognitively
different from beliefs involving the notion of water, and the relevant cognitive difference
is not captured by the observation that the beliefs involve different properties or
secondary intensions. Thus, sets of possible worlds chosen on the basis of primary
intensions do not capture subjective content.
A further problem concerns the relation between primary intensions and cognitive
independence. A close relation between cognitive independence and primary
end p.320

intensions is presupposed in the assumption that we can represent subjective belief


content by sets of possible worlds chosen on the basis of primary intensions. The project
of representing subjective belief content in this way can succeed only if the following
condition is met:

(C) If a rational person who understands the concepts C1 and C2 can believe that
something falls under C1 without falling under C2, then the primary intensions of C1 and
C2 differ.

But many physicalists propose accounts of phenomenal concepts and their reference that
are incompatible with (C). 10 Let C2 be a neurophysiological or functional concept of the
property thought to be identical with a particular phenomenal property, and let C1 be the
phenomenal concept of that phenomenal property. According to these physicalists, a
rational person may have C1 and C2 and yet believe that something falls under C2
without falling under C1 and vice versa. But they tell a story about how the reference of
phenomenal concepts is established that implies that C1 and C2 necessarily pick out the
same entities in the real world (that is: C1 and C2 have the same primary intension).
Therefore, to describe belief content in a way that presupposes (C) is to build the denial
of some of those physicalist theories that I wish to attack into the conceptual apparatus
used in the formulation of the argument. Plainly, this should be avoided.

Conceptualizations: Sketch of a Possible Solution

An alternative is to represent knowledge without using sets of possible worlds. A more


neutral way of representing knowledge or belief about the actual world is in terms of
what one may call conceptualizations. Let us think of descriptions in terms of concepts.
Then a conceptualization of the actual world is a description of the actual world that may
be incomplete in many respects. To conceptualize the world in a particular way is,
roughly, to believe in the truth of a particular description (given in terms of concepts). To
conceptualize the actual world in a way given by a certain description D is to understand
the concepts used in D and to believe that D is true as a description of the actual world. 11
Using the notion of conceptualizations, we may consider an alternative account of
grasping properties, given by the following four definitions. We will say that a function is
a possible secondary intension of a concept C given a certain conceptualization D (of the
actual world) just in case the assumption that it be the
end p.321

real secondary intension is compatible with that conceptualization. We may define this
notion as follows.

Definition 7: The function F from possible worlds into extensions is a possible


secondary intension of the concept C given the conceptualization D iff a person who
understands C and conceptualizes the actual world according to D cannot exclude that F
is the secondary intension of C.

If a person can exclude that all functions that are not identical with the secondary
intension of a given concept C are C's real secondary intension, then she knows the
counterfactual extension of the concept. She then grasps the property expressed by the
concept. We get a new definition of actuality independence on the basis of the following
claim: the secondary intension does not depend on features of the actual world that are
unknown to a subject if what the subject knows allows for just one possible secondary
intension. We can call a concept actuality independent relative to a certain
conceptualization D of the actual world if C's secondary intension is the only possible
secondary intension relative to the conceptualization D. We can call a concept actuality
independent tout court if the only possible secondary intension of the concept relative to
all conceptualizations D is its real secondary intension. These notions of actuality
independence accord with our earlier definition of grasping a property: to grasp a
property is to have an actuality-independent concept of that property relative to what one
knows about the actual world. The only difference is that we individuate knowledge by
conceptualizations and not by sets of possible worlds. We thus get the following
alternative definitions:

Definition 8: A concept is actuality independent relative to the conceptualization D iff


the secondary intension of C is the only possible secondary intension relative to D.

Definition 9: A concept is actuality independent iff it is actuality independent relative to


every conceptualization D.

Definition 10: If D is the description that captures what a person P knows about the
actual world (P conceptualizes the actual world according to D and this
conceptualization constitutes knowledge), then P grasps the property expressed by the
concept C iff the concept C is actuality independent relative to D.

This account of grasping avoids the problem of representing knowledge by sets of


possible worlds mentioned in the previous subsection. But there is a disadvantage, too:
the central notion of actuality independence used in the account is no longer defined
within the two-dimensional framework. Rather, the account employs the epistemic notion
of being able to exclude that a certain function is the real secondary intension of a
concept, given one's conceptualization of the actual world. Here again, we have to think
of the counterfactual worlds as given in terms of concepts that are not actuality-
dependent relative to what the epistemic subject knows about the actual world. 12
end p.322

Sketch of an Argument for Phenomenal Essentialism

Phenomenal concepts classify subjects according to what is subjectively given in


experience. The counterfactual extension of a phenomenal concept of a phenomenal
property therefore depends on nothing but the subjectively given—the qualitative feel,
the phenomenal character shared by those who fall under the concept in the actual world.
We have seen that, in general, the counterfactual extension of a concept C depends on the
features of those entities that fall into C's actual extension. This holds for phenomenal
concepts as well. The counterfactual extension of the phenomenal concept of having blue
experiences depends on the qualitative character present in the experience of those who
fall under the concept in the actual world. We can formulate this idea, in a first
approximation, by the following essentiality conditional:

(EC) If Q is some kind of hue quality (Q could be the hue we call green, yellow, red, or
blue), and if Q is experienced by those who fall under the concept of having blue
experiences in the actual world, then a subject in counterfactual circumstances falls under
the extension of that concept just in case that subject has an experience of Q.

The essentiality conditionals associated with a concept are characteristic of the concept. It
is part of our phenomenal concept of having blue experiences that the counterfactual
extension does not depend on anything but the hue experienced by those who fall under
the concept in the real world.
This first observation about phenomenal concepts also applies to nonphenomenal
concepts of phenomenal properties. While in their black-and-white environments, Mary
and Marianna may communicate with others who have seen colors. Mary and Marianna
thereby form nonphenomenal concepts of the property of having blue experiences. As in
the case of the phenomenal concept of this property, it is part of their nonphenomenal
concept of having blue experiences that no subject falls into its counterfactual extension
unless that subject experiences the hue experienced by those who fall into the actual
extension of the concept. Therefore, although phenomenal concepts are associated with
distinctive essentiality conditionals, this particular feature is not yet what makes them
phenomenal concepts. They share this feature with some nonphenomenal concepts of
phenomenal properties.
A person who has the phenomenal concept of having blue experiences thereby knows—
or so we may say in a first approximation—which hue is experienced by those who fall
into the actual extension of that concept. He or she knows of some particular hue Q that it
is the quality experienced by those who fall under the concept in the actual world. If this
claim is accepted, then we have something like an argument for the thesis of phenomenal
essentialism (the claim that having a phenomenal concept implies grasping the property it
expresses). You know the counterfactual extension of a concept (and thus grasp the
property it expresses) if you know of one of its essentiality conditionals that it has a true
antecedent. But if the reasoning just sketched is correct, then having the phenomenal
concept of blue experiences implies knowing which essentiality conditional has a true
antecedent.
The reasoning just sketched seems to me to explicate an important intuitive reason for
accepting phenomenal essentialism. There are two main ideas involved: the first
end p.323

concerns the essentiality conditionals associated with the phenomenal concept at issue,
and the second concerns knowledge about the actual extension of the concept. These
ideas are sometimes combined into one, as when people say that phenomenal concepts
are not natural kind concepts. What they mean is that the counterfactual extension of
these concepts does not depend on some hidden scientific nature.

How the Argument Is Question-Begging but Useful

The argument sketched in the preceding section implicitly presupposes its conclusion. It
uses the premise that a person who has the phenomenal concept of having blue
experiences thereby knows of a particular hue that it is the hue experienced by those who
fall under the concept in the actual world. This talk of “knowing of a particular hue” must
be interpreted as implying a particular conceptualization: the item of knowledge at issue
is what I call elsewhere (1996, 1998) phenomenal knowledge. The person must know
phenomenally that all those subjects falling under the concept of having blue experiences
have a blue experience. 13 But knowing this phenomenally is nothing other than having
this item of knowledge under the phenomenal concept of blue experiences. The person
must know, under her phenomenal concept of having blue experiences, that those who
fall into the actual extension of her concept have experiences of this particular kind. But
then this item of knowledge can help to determine the secondary intension of the concept
(on the basis of the associated essentiality conditional) only if the counterfactual
circumstances are again given in terms of the phenomenal concept under consideration.
So we get the following intermediate result: a person who has the phenomenal concept of
having blue experiences can decide for any individual A in counterfactual circumstances
whether it falls under the concept of having blue experiences when given the relevant
information about A in terms of the phenomenal concept of having blue experiences.
Does this capacity justify the claim that she knows the secondary intension of the concept
and so grasps the property at issue?
As I explained above, the general capacity to decide whether an individual A in
counterfactual circumstances falls under a concept C implies grasping the corresponding
property only if the information about A is given in terms of concepts that allow the
person to grasp the corresponding properties. Using the framework developed above, we
must conclude: the information must be given in terms of concepts that are actuality-
dependent relative to the person's background knowledge. So, the capacity at issue
implies that the person grasps the property at issue only if the phenomenal concept of
having blue experiences is actuality independent relative to her background knowledge.
But this is precisely what we wanted to show. So the argument for phenomenal
essentialism sketched in the preceding section presupposes phenomenal essentialism.
end p.324

As an argument in the strict sense (in the sense of a tool to convince a potential
interlocutor by showing that the desired conclusion follows from assumptions that he or
she should be ready to accept), the argument is obviously useless. But it is not useless for
other purposes. If phenomenal essentialism is correct, then the “argument” explains
within a more general framework of grasping why phenomenal essentialism is correct.
This explanation is useful in getting a better understanding of the precise content of
phenomenal essentialism. It helps us see that, for example, there are two components
involved in the claim of phenomenal essentialism: one about knowledge of actual
extension, the other about essentiality conditionals. We cannot use the argument to justify
phenomenal essentialism. But we can use it to explain its truth and explicate its content.
In some cases, an interlocutor gets convinced by a claim simply by better understanding
its content. Insofar as the argument can convince by explaining the content of the thesis,
it can be useful as an argument nonetheless. The argument is still a useful argument even
if it is no argument in the ordinary strict sense.
The failure of the above argument may however appear to be more devastating. The
above discussion may appear to reveal that the claim of phenomenal essentialism when
spelled out appropriately is trivially true and therefore uninteresting. The discussion has
shown that phenomenal essentialism amounts to the claim that a person who has a
phenomenal concept C thereby knows that a being in counterfactual circumstances falls
into C's extension when given the information under the phenomenal concept C that the
being has this kind of experience. But of course we know the counterfactual extension of
every concept in this trivial sense.
This argument, however, is mistaken. In the general case, the capacity of knowing the
counterfactual extension of a given concept C under the concept C itself cannot constitute
grasping the corresponding property. The situation is different in the case of actuality-
independent concepts. In the special case of actuality-independent concepts, knowing the
counterfactual extension in terms of the concept itself is grasping the property at issue.
We cannot justify the claim that a person grasps the property corresponding to a concept
C simply by pointing out that she knows its counterfactual extension under the concept C
itself. But it is wrong to assume that a person does not grasp the property corresponding
to a concept C if she knows the counterfactual extension under no concept other than C
itself. 14

Grasping Physical Properties via Physical Concepts


If phenomenal essentialism is true, then physicalism is false unless it is possible to grasp
physical properties via phenomenal concepts. Materialists commonly assume that we
have phenomenal concepts of some physical properties. But the claim that we can grasp
some physical properties via phenomenal concepts is stronger. It implies that we can
grasp the nature of physical properties by conceptualizing them phenomenally.
end p.325

But the nature of physical properties is physical. So, it should be possible to grasp that
nature in physical terminology (in a physical conceptualization). The physical nature of
physical properties should in principle be cognitively accessible for an ideal epistemic
subject. In other words, it should be possible to grasp every physical property by some
physical concept. We might even say that this principle partially explains what we mean
by physical properties. Physical properties are such that they can in principle be fully
expressed in physical terminology. But for a property to be fully expressed in a
terminology is to be captured in a way that allows an epistemic subject who understands
the terminology (has the corresponding concepts) to understand what having that
property essentially consists in.
There are strong reasons for the claim that I called earlier the cognitive accessibility of
physical properties by physical concepts: for every physical property P, there is some
physical concept C such that P can be grasped via C. Of course, we human beings need
not have the concept at this time in history. The claim is that there is some concept
appropriately called physical such that if we had that concept, we would be able to grasp
the property.
But there are also reasons to deny the claim at issue. Some argue that physical
terminology captures only causal relations: that such terminology fails to capture what
might be called the intrinsic nature of those entities (particles, forces, fields, etc.) that
stand in those relations (see Flanagan 1992, Strawson 1999). It can be argued that, on
some low physical level, two different kinds of particles may not be distinguishable by
their causal role. We could imagine the situation like this: we refer to two kinds of
particles and introduce them by describing a causal relation standing between them. If the
causal relation is symmetric, then we might not be able to distinguish between them by
reference to their causal role, but still we would have reason to assume that they differ
intrinsically. In this situation, any property concept that makes reference to one of these
two kinds of entities would express a property that cannot be fully grasped by any
physical concept. 15 Even so, I will argue that the physicalist who appeals to a denial of
this premise in his defense against the argument is led into a quite problematic kind of
physicalism. 16
To grasp a physical property, it is in general necessary to have empirical physical
knowledge in addition to understanding a concept that expresses the property. I therefore
propose to work with the following formulation of the premise at issue:
Cognitive accessibility of physical properties by physical concepts: For every physical
property P, there is a physical concept C and physical background knowledge K such that
a person who understands C and has K grasps P.
end p.326
Cognitive Transparency

Given the premises of phenomenal essentialism and the cognitive accessibility of


physical properties via physical concepts, the physicalist claim that phenomenal
properties are physical properties cannot be true unless it is possible to grasp one and the
same property via a phenomenal concept and via some physical concept.
My account allows that one can grasp a property via two different concepts. A person can
grasp the property of being water via the concept of water, given her chemical
background knowledge about the composition of liquids falling under the concept in the
actual world. She can also grasp the property of being water via the concept of being a
liquid composed of H 2 O. However, she knows that her concepts are necessarily
coextensive, without further empirical investigation. The idea of grasping a property
implies fully understanding what having the property consists in. Therefore, every aspect
of what it is to have the property should be in principle cognitively accessible to the
subject. But then grasping the property in two conceptually different ways should
necessarily go along with the capacity to realize that one and the same property has been
cognitively penetrated. A fortiori, it should go along with the capacity to see that the two
concepts are necessarily coextensive. Therefore, if someone accepts the notion of
grasping a property at all, then he or she should also accept the following principle of
cognitive transparency. 17
A principle of cognitive transparency (CT): A person who grasps a property P via two
distinct concepts C1 and C2 is thereby in an epistemic situation in which it is in principle
possible for her to rationally judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily coextensive.
Cognitive Independence
Let us assume that we have a phenomenal concept C1 of a given phenomenal property P
and that the physicalist claim that P is a physical property is true. Then the first two
premises—phenomenal essentialism and the cognitive accessibility of physical
properties—imply that there is a physical concept C2 such that a person who has the
physical concept C2 and the phenomenal concept C1 and sufficient physical knowledge
K grasps the nature of P via C1 and via C2. If the third premise—cognitive
transparency—is true, then we can conclude that there are pairs of a phenomenal concept
C1 and a physical concept C2 such that a person who has both concepts can, with
sufficient physical knowledge, rationally judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily
coextensive. The purpose of this section is to introduce a notion of cognitive
independence between concepts such that (1) it is plausible to assume that phenomenal
concepts and physical concepts are independent in this way, and (2) this assumption
excludes the result just obtained. Once this is accomplished, my argument for property
dualism is complete. The four premises lead into a
end p.327

contradiction when combined with the physicalist view that phenomenal properties are
identical with physical properties.
Many philosophers agree that phenomenal terms and physical terms are cognitively
independent. Many claim that this independence explains our puzzlement about
consciousness. Some think that this cognitive independence explains why we are tempted
to think that phenomenal properties are nonphysical but that the explanation is
compatible with physicalism and that recognizing the source of our puzzlement should
make the temptation disappear. In this chapter, cognitive independence plays a different
role. I wish to show that a weak claim of cognitive independence leads quite naturally to
a dualist position when combined with my three other main premises.
The notion of cognitive independence needed for the present purposes concerns modal
judgments (judgments about necessary coextensionality) and must be relativized to a
certain body of knowledge. This is because we wish to exclude that a person can, on the
basis of her physical knowledge, rationally judge that a certain phenomenal concept and a
certain physical concept are necessarily coextensive. We can define an appropriate notion
of cognitive independence as follows.

Definition 11: The concepts C1 and C2 are cognitively independent relative to


background knowledge K iff a rational person who accepts K as true in the actual world
and understands C1 and C2 is not on that basis in an epistemic position to rationally
judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily coextensive.

Two concepts C1 and C2 can of course be cognitively independent relative to K even if K


implies that they are actually coextensive. They are cognitively independent just in case
understanding the concepts and having background knowledge K does not enable one to
rationally exclude that there is a metaphysically possible world where the concepts have
different extensions.
The water example provides a case that does not fall under the notion of cognitive
independence just defined. Let K be a body of knowledge containing the information that
the two concepts are coextensive in the real world. Someone who has K and has the
concept of being water and the concept of being H 2 O is thereby in a position to
rationally conclude that the two concepts are necessarily coextensive. 18 Two
end p.328

concepts may not be cognitively independent given available background knowledge K


even if they are cognitively independent in another familiar sense: it is still possible for a
person to coherently conceptualize how the actual world would have to be for the two
concepts to have different extensions in the actual world. Again the water case can
illustrate this point. Although the case does not satisfy the definiens in definition 11, we
can coherently conceptualize circumstances in which they would have different actual
extensions. 19
To find a case that satisfies definition 11, we can take the concept of having a pain, the
concept of having a brain with its C-fibers firing, and any purely physical knowledge
about the functioning of the brain. Many philosophers accept that physical knowledge
about the functioning of the brain and our understanding of the two concepts involved
does not enable us to rationally conclude that the two concepts involved (the phenomenal
and the physiological one) have the same extension in every metaphysically possible
world. At least, those philosophers who accept that there is an explanatory gap and more
generally that there is a temptation to become a dualist given the cognitive independence
of phenomenal and physical concepts should be ready to admit this claim. If they deny
that phenomenal and physical concepts are cognitively independent relative to purely
physical knowledge about the brain, then it is difficult to see how they could still explain
dualist temptations on the basis of some other claim of cognitive independence. The
reason is this: if it were possible to rationally realize that phenomenal concepts are
necessarily coextensive with appropriately chosen physical concepts on the basis of
physical knowledge alone, then no puzzlement about consciousness should remain once
we have that kind of physical knowledge.
The claim at issue about cognitive independence between phenomenal and physical
concepts can be formulated as follows.
Cognitive independence (CGI): If C1 is a phenomenal concept, and C2 is a physical
concept, and if K is some arbitrary physical background knowledge, then C1 and C2 are
cognitively independent relative to K (in the sense of definition 11).

Why Cognitive Independence Is a Weak Claim

In the current literature, much discussion focuses on whether a complete physical


description, supplemented by indexical information and a “that's all” clause, a priori
implies claims about the phenomenal. The cognitive independence of the phenomenal
and the physical is standardly understood in these terms. According to the standard claim
of cognitive independence, there is no such a priori implication. This claim differs from
CGI. Let CGI* be the claim we get when substituting K with K*, where K* is K plus the
indexical information and the relevant “that's all” clause. The logical relation between
CGI* and the standard claim at issue is as
end p.329

follows: (a) The standard claim implies CGI*, but (b) CGI* does not imply the standard
claim. To see (a) is easy: according to the standard claim, knowing K* and understanding
C1 and C2 are not sufficient for rationally judging that C1 and C2 are actually
coextensive. It follows that it is also impossible to rationally judge that these concepts are
necessarily coextensive. To see that (b) is true, we need only realize that a person may
not be able to rationally judge that two concepts are necessarily coextensive on the basis
of what she knows about the actual world, even if she is able to rationally judge that they
are coextensive in the actual world. So, CGI* can be true in a case in which the standard
claim is false. Given this logical relation, the standard claim is at least as problematic as
CGI, which is still weaker than CGI*. A philosopher who accepts the standard claim
must also accept the claim of cognitive independence here proposed.
Again, CGI is even weaker than CGI*: K does not contain indexical knowledge. Thus
CGI is even compatible with the view of those who think that for an appropriately chosen
physical concept C1 and phenomenal concept C2, adding indexical knowledge to the
relevant physical knowledge will make it possible to rationally conclude that C1 and C2
are necessarily coextensive. Also, CGI is compatible with the assumption that a person
who knows K and has C1 and C2 can on that basis rationally conclude that C1 and C2 are
coextensive in every world in which K obtains. 20
A number of recent accounts of phenomenal concepts imply that empirical knowledge
about the functioning of the brain can give us reason to believe that a particular
phenomenal concept picks out a particular physiological type. For example, according to
the view proposed by Brian Loar, we will find the physical property that is identical with
some given phenomenal property once we have identified the physical property that
triggers the phenomenal concept expressing that phenomenal property (1990/97). One
might be tempted to think that the proposed principle of cognitive independence is
incompatible with any such theory. But the incompatibility is only apparent. We cannot
conclude from the observation that the concept C1 is triggered by instantiations of the
property expressed by C2 alone that C1 and C2 express the same property and are
therefore necessarily coextensive. Adding that we understand C1 and C2 does not suffice
either. To rationally get to the conclusion at issue we have to use a philosophical theory
about how phenomenal concepts refer. For a person who has both concepts, no physical
knowledge will suffice to rationally judge that any of these philosophical theories is
correct. Philosophical theories do not just follow from empirical theories about the
functioning of the brain. Therefore, the proposed claim of cognitive independence does
not presuppose or imply the falsity of these accounts of phenomenal concepts. 21
end p.330

Summary of the Argument

Here again are the four premises of my main argument:

Phenomenal essentialism (PE): If C is a phenomenal concept, then a person who has C


grasps the property expressed by C via C.

A principle of cognitive transparence (CT): A person who grasps a property P via two
distinct concepts C1 and C2 is in an epistemic situation where she can in principle
rationally judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily coextensive.

Cognitive independence of physical and phenomenal concepts (CGI): If C1 is a


phenomenal concept and C2 is a physical concept, then a rational person with arbitrary
physical background knowledge who has the concept C1 and who has the concept C2 is
not in a position where she can in principle rationally judge on that basis alone that
C1and C2 are necessarily coextensive.

Premise of cognitive accessibility of physical properties (CA): For every physical


property P there is a physical concept C and physical background knowledge K such that
a person who understands C and has K grasps the property P.
Let C1 be some arbitrary phenomenal concept. Then the argument is intended to reject
the following assumption:

Assumption (A): The property expressed by the phenomenal concept C1 is a physical


property.
To reject the assumption A is to show that either (a) the property expressed by C1 is no
physical property, or (b) there is no property expressed by the phenomenal concept C1.
The latter is an eliminativist view about phenomenal properties: it implies that there are
no such properties.
The argument goes as follows:

1.The property expressed by C1 can be grasped via some physical concept C2 on the
basis of some specific physical background knowledge K. (from A and CA)

2.The property expressed by C1 can be grasped via C1. (from PE)

3.A person who has C1 and C2 and background knowledge K is in a position to


rationally judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily coextensive. (from 1, 2, and CT)

4.A person who has C1 and C2 and background knowledge K is not in a position to
rationally judge that C1 and C2 are necessarily coextensive. (from 1, 2, and CGI)

But 4 contradicts 3.

So, if we accept each of the premises, the materialist assumption A must be rejected. So,
to avoid eliminativism we must accept that phenomenal properties are not identical to
physical properties.

Phenomenally Revealed Physical Natures

I still owe to the reader an explanation of why denying CA, while accepting the other
premises, is not a promising strategy for the physicalist. The main problem is that
denying CA does not take the idea of grasping properties seriously enough. A
philosopher who defends physicalism by denying CA while retaining the claim of
phenomenal essentialism implies that every phenomenal property has a physical
end p.331

nature that can be grasped only under a phenomenal concept. But to grasp a property is to
be cognitively presented with what is essential for having that property. There is no room
for any hidden nature behind the property that we are grasping. But there is no physical
feature before our mind when we grasp a property via a phenomenal concept. So how
could the features we grasp phenomenally be physical nonetheless?
I cannot see how the materialist can answer this question without abandoning the central
intuitive point about grasping properties via concepts. If we can grasp physical properties
via phenomenal concepts, then the physical differs considerably from how we usually
conceived of it. On this view, the physical can reveal its nature by simply being
experienced. Some physical properties would then be essentially experiential, and that
experiential aspect would be all that it is to have that physical property. That there are
such essentially experiential properties is precisely what the property dualist says. The
disagreement would then concern only whether such properties can be called physical.
The physicalist who chooses this line has to explain what justifies calling them physical
despite their special status. In so doing, she would have to show that the difference
between her position and property dualism is substantial, rather than merely
terminological.
Thus, the physicalist response that combines a denial of CA with an acceptance of
phenomenal essentialism seems unstable. A physicalist who denies that phenomenal
properties can be grasped via physical concepts should also deny that they can be grasped
via phenomenal concepts. Therefore, the reasons for accepting phenomenal essentialism
count against the physicalist response at issue.

Intrinsic Natures of Small Physical Entities

Another problem arises when reconsidering what may be the best reason for rejecting
CA: the claim that there are microphysical entities with cognitively inaccessible natures.
If this is why we reject CA, then there is an explanation of its falsity: in conceptualizing
physical properties, we make reference to microphysical entities that have a physical
nature that we are unable to grasp. But if the nature of microphysical entities is the only
obstacle to grasping physical properties, then all physical properties that cannot be
grasped via physical concepts must be cognitively inaccessible precisely for this and no
other reason. In particular, we have to conclude that phenomenal properties cannot be
grasped physically because their nature is partially constituted by microphysical entities
with hidden intrinsic natures. In other words, the hidden intrinsic nature of microphysical
entities is responsible for the fact that phenomenal properties cannot be grasped via
physical concepts.
But this result again is quite amazing if we accept phenomenal essentialism. We arrive at
the conclusion that (a) we can grasp these physical properties phenomenally, and (b) we
cannot grasp them via physical concepts because these properties involve microphysical
entities with some hidden intrinsic nature. But this implies that we somehow circumvent
the difficulty of accessing the nature of microphysical entities by phenomenally
conceptualizing the relevant properties. But how could
end p.332

that be? We are not aware of any features attributed to microphysical entities when
conceptualizing phenomenal properties via phenomenal concepts. The conjunction of (a)
and (b) seems to imply that we grasp the intrinsic nature of microphysical entities when
grasping phenomenal properties via phenomenal concepts. But there is nothing of all this
cognitively present in our understanding of what phenomenal properties consist in when
we think of them in terms of phenomenal concepts. If a property is essentially constituted
by some role of microphysical entities with intrinsic natures hidden from physical
conceptualizations, then in grasping it phenomenally we should be aware of the role these
microphysical entities play in the constitution of the property and of their intrinsic
features. Nothing of all this is going on in the simple case where we understand what
having a blue experience essentially consists in on the basis of having a blue experience.
Therefore, a physicalist who denies CA and who believes that this denial is justified by
the idea of hidden intrinsic natures of microphysical properties must also deny
phenomenal essentialism.

Comparison to Other Arguments and Concluding Remarks

My argument for property dualism is similar to well-known arguments by Chalmers and


Kripke. In this section, I will compare and contrast my argument with their arguments
(with which I will assume familiarity).
Chalmers's argument makes substantial use of primary intensions and of the idea that
primary intensions represent what is a priori known by a person who understands the
expressions at issue. By contrast, my argument does not make any substantial use of
primary intensions, and I do not assume that primary intensions represent a priori
knowledge. Unlike Chalmers, I do not assume that cognitively independent concepts (in
the sense I have explained) have different primary intensions. Therefore, my argument is
not undermined by a number of arguments concerning what a competent speaker knows a
priori. In particular, it is not undermined by arguments developed in Block and Stalnaker
(1999) against the views of Chalmers and Jackson (2001). The important item of a priori
knowledge that plays a substantial role in the present argument is implicit knowledge of
essentiality conditionals (or implicit knowledge of possible secondary intensions).
A related difference concerns the resulting diagnosis of the lack of analogy between the
water/H 2 O-case and the case of consciousness. According to Chalmers and Jackson,
facts about water can be deduced from the microphysical facts, whereas facts about
consciousness cannot. Some authors doubt the first part of the latter claim, but my
argument does not rely on it. My argument is compatible with the view that the term
“water” is not a priori related to the microphysical language in the way necessary for an a
priori deduction of facts about water from the microphysical facts. My argument locates
the relevant difference in another place. The difference concerns modal knowledge
(knowledge about what is possible) given a certain amount of background knowledge. To
know that water is composed of H 2 O suffices to exclude that there is a possible world
where water is XYZ (whereas to know that B is the physiological-functional basis of blue
experiences
end p.333

in the actual world does not suffice, even when supplemented with arbitrary physical
knowledge, to exclude that there is a counterfactual possibility where B occurs without
blue experiences). This claim can be defended without assuming that we can redefine
“water” such that “water is composed of H 2 O” is deducible from the microphysical
facts, and it can be defended without assuming the weaker claim that the microphysical
facts imply a priori that water is H 2 O. 22
Phenomenal essentialism was inspired by Chalmers's (2003a) claim about the identity of
primary and secondary intensions in the case of phenomenal terms. When formulated
within the two-dimensional framework, the two claims are equivalent. Chalmers's claim,
however, does not seem to be intended as a claim about the cognitive capacity of
grasping properties and is not imbedded in any theoretical account of grasping properties.
By contrast, this interpretation is central to my argument.
Phenomenal essentialism is also related to Kripke's claim that “pain” and other
phenomenal terms pick out their referents by noncontingent reference fixers. On his view,
pain is picked out by the way it feels, which is essential to pain: a state that feels like pain
is necessarily pain, and a pain necessarily feels that particular way. I have employed this
intuitively appealing idea within a different theoretical framework. Kripke bases his
account on the introduction of an additional property of the state (or of the property) of
being in pain, namely, the property of being painful. By contrast, the present account
need not assume these additional qualitative properties. The present proposal does not
need talk of the painfulness of pain in addition to the property of being in pain.
Furthermore, in contrast to the Kripkean formulation (and to the corresponding claim in
the work of Chalmers), the present account of phenomenal essentialism places the
intuition in question in the context of a general account of grasping properties and
understanding concepts. This makes it possible to distinguish two components of the
intuitive idea: (a) phenomenal concepts are associated with special kinds of essentiality
conditionals, and (b) having a phenomenal concept involves knowing the truth of the
antecedent of one of these essentiality conditionals. These two components cannot be
distinguished in common formulations of the intuitive idea under consideration.
Kripke does not explicitly formulate anything like what I call the premise of cognitive
accessibility of physical properties. There is, however, a related thesis present in
Chalmers's discussion of what he calls type F-monism. In his discussion of whether there
is a world that satisfies “P and not-Q” (where P stands for the conjunction of all physical
truths about our world, and “not-Q” for “there is no consciousness”), he considers the
possibility that a world w verifies but does not satisfy P. He writes in this context:
If a world satisfies P, it must have at least the structure of the actual physical world. The
only reason why W might not satisfy P is that it lacks the intrinsic properties underlying
this structure in the actual world. (On this view, the primary intension of a physical
concept picks out whatever property plays a certain role in a given world, and the
end p.334

secondary intension picks out the actual intrinsic property across all worlds.) (2003a:
256–57).
The difference between primary and secondary intensions for physical concepts
considered in this passage may be read as the claim that we are in principle unable to
form physical concepts of these intrinsic properties with identical primary and secondary
intensions; and this may be interpreted as implying that we are in principle unable to
grasp the intrinsic nature of these properties. Under this interpretation, the view
considered by Chalmers in this passage is the negation of the premise of cognitive
accessibility of physical properties.
Some premise of cognitive independence between physical and phenomenal concepts is
used in every contemporary antimaterialist argument. In Kripke (1972), the premise is
implied by his claim about the conceivability of a case where there is C-fiber firing going
on in someone's brain without the person being in pain (and vice versa). He does not
formulate his claim in terms of cognitive independence, and he does not offer a general
account of the kind of cognitive independence at issue. Plausibly, his claim could be
reformulated in terms of cognitive independence relative to arbitrary physical knowledge
in the sense of definition 11, since (a) it is the conceivability of a counterfactual case that
is at issue, and (b) it is implicit in the discussion that the case remains conceivable even if
arbitrary physical knowledge about the actual world is added. Chalmers and Jackson
think of cognitive independence in terms of a priori entailment from the physical facts
(together with a “that's all” clause and indexical knowledge). As I have explained, the
claim of cognitive independence used in the present argument is weaker than the claim
discussed by Chalmers and Jackson (2001).
Chalmers and Jackson agree that there are in general two properties related to a property
concept, the one corresponding to the primary and the other corresponding to the
secondary intension. Anyone who accepts this view will say that there are two equally
acceptable answers to the question of which property is expressed by a given property
concept. By contrast, I propose to identify the property expressed by a property concept
with the property that corresponds to the secondary intension. This difference relates to
an issue about what we conceive of when we conceptualize a particular case. Jackson and
Chalmers argue that there are potentially two sets of possible worlds corresponding to a
given conceptualization: the set of possible worlds where the thought at issue is true
according to primary intensions, and the set of possible worlds where the thought is true
according to secondary intensions. They concede that even in a case of a coherent
conceptualization, the second set might be empty, but they insist that the first will not be
empty. Primary intensions thus guarantee that there is a real metaphysical possibility (the
possibility picked out by the primary intension of the relevant sentence) corresponding to
every coherent conceptualization. In this conceptual framework, the bridge between
conceivability and metaphysical possibility is built in terms of primary intensions. My
proposal, however, does not rely on these claims about primary intensions. I build the
bridge between conceivability and metaphysical possibility in a different way.
end p.335

Perhaps the most significant distinctive feature of my argument is the explicit formulation
and use of the principle of cognitive transparency. 23 This principle is the bridge between
understanding concepts and grasping properties and between mere conceivability and real
possibility. The principle states that we can see (intuit) necessary connections between
properties in case we have concepts that allow us to grasp what is essential for or
constitutive of these properties. The principle reformulates a traditional idea that has been
quite unpopular among many philosophers for many years, since it is contrary to what
has been called the linguistic turn. On my principle, a priori knowledge is not a matter of
linguistic knowledge but rather a matter of grasping relations of necessity that hold
between properties independently of our linguistic conventions and of our conceptual
capacities. 24 The principle is not explicitly mentioned in the arguments by Kripke and
Chalmers, nor is it mentioned in the Knowledge Argument. I suspect that the principle is
nonetheless implicit in each of these arguments. To show this, however, it would be
necessary to argue that something like my cognitive transparency principle must be used
in a rigorous reconstruction of these arguments. I leave this task for a different occasion.

Acknowledgments

I had several opportunities to present earlier versions of this argument. Each time I
learned a lot. I am grateful to the participants in the discussion in Friboug, November
2001, in Saarbrücken in June 2002, in Konstanz in July 2002, in Santa Cruz in August
2002, in Lausanne in January 2003, in Gainesville in October 2003, and at Rutgers in
October 2003. Several people have given me helpful, detailed comments, both orally and
in writing. Substantial changes were motivated by comments by Ana Maria Andrei,
David Chalmers, Manfred Kupfer, Joe Levine, and Kirk Ludwig. I am grateful to Max
Drömmer for numerous helpful discussions.

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